Martian Manhunter
by Mediancat
Summary: Veronica Mars ends up in the Buffyverse, knowing what's coming and unable to do anything about it. Or so she thinks . . .
1. Prologue: Welcome to Hell

Author's Note: After I finish "The Sum of Their Parts" I'll either work on the _Star Trek_ crossover or this one. Which one would interest you more?

Disclaimer: _Veronica Mars_ was created by Rob Thomas; _Buffy _was created by Joss Whedon.

X X X X X

I took a couple of pictures of the broken sign, from a couple of angles.

Was that black paint?

Why, yes it was.

I'm no Gil Grissom, to have access to a database capable of telling me what make and model of car left a minuscule speck of paint behind on five seconds' notice. "Black" was about as good as I was going to get. There weren't any cameras overlooking the intersection -

No. I had to stop thinking like that. Traffic light cameras weren't as common as they used to be.

Still, this was only to confirm something I already suspected, so the lack of Gil Grissom's databse -- ha! Like anyone would know who he was -- didn't really mean anything either.

"Veronica," a familiar voice said from behind me. "Is that you disturbing a crime scene?"

I spun and put on a big fake smile, "I don't see a crime scene here, deputy. I see a sign someone knocked down."

"That's destruction of public property," Don Lamb said.

"And I'm sure you're just champing at the bit to get to it, what with all those unsolved homicides," I said. "Relax, Donnie. This isn't anything I'm investigating that might potemtially embarrass you. I'm just taking a couple of pictures for a school project of mine." I put the camera in my bag. "So now you and your crack team can get right to work."

"Funny," he said.

"I sense a lack of enthusiasm," I said. "I guess 'The Comedy Stylings of Veronica Mars; will not be winning any Grammys for best spoken-word performance. Too bad. I already had a place set aside for it on my bookcase."

He said something as I left, but I wasn't really paying attention. Very little of what Don Lamb says is worth paying attention to.

Alright, maybe "You're under arrest." But only for laughs.

I got into my Lebaron and drove off. Time to go help my dad in his office.

Right now, I'm betting you think you have it all figured out.

You're wrong.

Trust me, you're wrong.

Because that sign I was taking pictures of?

There were three words on it:

"Welcome to Sunnydale."

That's right. I was smack in the middle of the Buffy episode "School Hard."

My name is Veronica Mars. High school student, girl detective, and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _fan.

And I know _everything that's going to happen for the next six years_.

X X X X X

So, you may be wondering, how did this happen?

Good question. Too bad I can't answer it.

Note: That's not won't, it's can't. It's one of the rules that's been set up for me.

"You may not tell anyone how this came about, or about their futures."

I can't tell you how, but I can tell you what: I've been shoehorned into the Buffyverse. Or, to be more exact, my 17-year old self has been shoehorned into the Buffyverse. Along with whatever parts of my "backstory" were deemed necessary to make me what I am today:

Dad. Mom, now absent. The Echolls Family, minus Trina. The Kane family.

And, for some reason, Don Lamb. Which proves that if there is a God -- something I highly doubt, at this point -- that he hates me.

Of course, I've had proof of that for years now.

No Wallace Fennell. No Mac. No Weevil Navarro.

Of course, Lilly still got murdered last year, and I still got raped -- Just at Cordelia Chase's Christmas party, not Shelly Pomroy's. Dad still got fired from his Sheriff's job -- though, in Sunnydale, it was as likely that Mayor Wilkins was looking for any excuse to get rid of an actually competent officer as it was any pressure brought by Jake Kane

Because, you know, those are all important parts of what made me me.

This isn't "Welcome to the Hellmouth."

This is just "Welcome to Hell."

So come, join me on my wonderful voyage of discovery, why don't you?


	2. The Real Mes

Author's note: We now begin to join Veronica on her wonderful voyage of discovery.

Disclaimer: Buffyverse, Joss Whedon; Marsverse, Rob Thomas. Storyline, me.

X X X X X

So, you may be asking, how do I know I'm stuck in _School Hard_ and not _Lover's Walk_?

Now, I could dazzle you with tales of my deductive prowess, but the real answer boils down to two simple words:

Jenny Calendar.

She's alive. Therefore, this is _School Hard_.

Of course, like all simple answers, I'm leaving a lot out.

I came to in my new life a few days ago, fortunately over a weekend, so I had enough time to catch my breath and figure out when I was. Not that I think the entity responsible was doing this to be nice to me; I think he figured a couple of extra days would give enough time to slowly come to the realization that I was screwed.

And since I _have_ come to that realization, I think we can call the weekend a roaring success.

Of course, it's also taken me this long to try to process two sets of memories. Just because no one else remembers a world in which I was born in 1987 and not 1980, doesn't mean I'm still not having to deal with unexpected differences. Let me tell you, this is no one's idea of a good time.

It took me the better part of the weekend to try to sort through the details.

To give you an example: I still remember -- if remember is the right word for the recollection of an event that never happened except in my memories, Shelly Pomroy's Christmas party. It was a mind-bending beer bash that, of course, ended with me staggering to a _slut_-covered car and no memory of what had happened after early the previous night. During which amnesic period I had, of course, been raped by Cassidy Casablancas and had been technically raped by Duncan, even though he'd believed it was consensual, which is why in the end I ended up not holding it against him.

Problem one with my memory is that there's no Cassidy Casablancas in this universe. No Dick Casablancas, either, which is something I'm profoundly grateful for, believe me. Still, no brothers Casablancas means I don't even know if I was raped once or twice in this universe, or who did it. It wasn't a fun investigation the first time; I don't know if I can stomach it again.

And yet, sadly, important as that is, it's beside the main point, which is that in the Buffyverse it was Cordelia Chase's party I ended up stumbling away from in the early morning, and Cordelia's party was about as different from Shelly Pomroy's to get and still bear the name "party." Not that it still didn't have the crème de la crème of Sunnydale society; Duncan Kane, Logan Echolls, Harmony Kendall, all the Cordettes; but one thing you can be sure of is that Cordelia Chase would never throw anything so déclassé as a beer bash.

But, whether it was a junior grade cocktail party or a blowout by the swimming pool, the end was the same: me, amnesiac, in a back bedroom, with a graffiti-covered LeBaron.

And this was only one of the memories I had to sort through. Take that and multiply it by a couple hundred, and toss in vampires and demons, and you'll see what I had to handle that weekend. (And my Sunnydale self didn't _know_ about vampires and demons, but she was getting pretty suspicious. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with Lilly's murder, she might have tumbled to it already.)

I have to stop doing that. She, me. We're the same person.

It got to the point where Dad was starting to get worried about me, but I managed to fend him off by saying I wasn't feeling very well.

Which was not only true, of course, but an understatement the size of Lake Michigan.

Anyway, Monday -- and what a positive _joy_ it was to be back in high school, let me tell you; the only good part was that, having lived through this once before and having a near-eidetic memory, I could have slept through most of the classes and still gotten A's -- Monday was devoted to figuring out when in the Buffyverse I was. My dueling memories had let me hash out my past, but I was still catching up on my present. The names of my teachers helped be not a bit; the only faculty members whose names stuck out were Rupert Giles, Principal Snyder -- maybe now I could finally figure out his first name -- and Jenny Calendar.

And as soon as I remembered Ms. Calendar, I went and looked for her classroom, and found it, inventing an excuse about maybe taking the class next semester to explain what I was doing there.

Now I knew: Second season. The exactly when didn't hit me until I saw the knocked-down "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign. And that's pretty much where you all came in.

So: Now that I know this, what am I supposed to do?

My first instincts were to tell Buffy and Giles exactly who'd come to town and what they had to look forward to, but even apart from my orders not to tell anyone what was going to happen, there was a problem with that:

They didn't like me.

At the very least, Willow Rosenberg and Xander Harris didn't like me, and Cordelia Chase didn't think too highly of me, either. My relationship with Rupert Giles was that of any well-read student to a librarian: Cordial, but hardly chummy.

I got along best with Buffy herself. She hadn't been here as I completed my rather spectacular belly-flop from grace, so she didn't treat me as though I were slumming, like Xander and Willow did, or like something she needed to hire someone to scrape off the bottom of her shoe, like Cordelia did. We were reasonably friendly; I'd even met her mother a couple of times when we'd gotten stuck working on school projects together.

And how did I feel about them? Again, literally, of two minds. I could take or leave Cordelia and Willow and actively disliked Xander Harris, though he didn't torment me like Logan did. He couldn't; he didn't have the emotional connection to me that Logan did. Basically, we made snide comments about each other.

As for Logan, well, he was once again the obligatory psychotic jackass and tormentor he had been at the beginning of my first junior year, instead of the on again, off again boyfriend he'd become by the time I'd graduated from Neptune High.

Welcome to Sunnydale, where the fun never starts.

I had Xander Harris to thank for my nickname: Practically every student at Sunnydale High -- except for Duncan, Logan, Cordelia, and Buffy -- called me J'onn J'onnz. Martian Manhunter, ha ha ha.

So, here I am. Alone again, unnaturally. The in class thinks I'm a traitor, and the outcasts think I only realized what was what when I was the one under fire. And, let's face it: They're right.

Didn't bother me, really, except for Logan. It had been a lot of work getting our relationship to the point where we had one, and now I had to start all over.

And this is just my personal life. Never mind the trivial things like Lilly's murder and my rape, which, now that they'd been shoehorned into the Buffyverse, still needed to be solved. It was tempting to think about simply stranding Aaron Echolls near a vampire nest, but with my luck they'd turn him and he'd be just that much harder to get rid of.

At least I had a second chance here: To make sure things went right, that he was convicted for what he did.

It would be just as hard this time around; he was still a major Hollywood star with all of the perks and privileges that came with it. But I'd figure out a way to do it.

And, in the meantime, there were events from the mainstream Buffyverse to deal with, such as the impending invasion of our school by vampires in a couple of days. At least I knew I wasn't going to be there; Dad was out of town tracking down a bail jumper, and even if he was here he wouldn't have any particular need to talk to my teachers.

At the moment, I was watching Buffy, Willow and Xander deal with Principal Snyder. Buffy said, to a newly returned -- damn. What was her name again? The girl Spike was going to make into a vampire in time for the invasion --

I'm a Buffy fan; I don't have every episode memorized. I'm sure she was named in the show.

So much for my near-eidetic memory.

Buffy said to her, "I know you wanted everything to be perfect, but let's just go with what we have."

Snyder said, "Just make sure everything's perfect on Thursday," and turned to leave. He stopped when he saw me standing there. "What are you staring at, Mars?"

"Just observing the preparations," I said. "They look like they're doing a pretty good job so far. Too bad I won't be here to see it."

"That's right. Your father abandons you several nights a week while he chases down the scum of the earth. Well, maybe he won't be here, but you will."

"Gosh, I'm so sorry, but I have other plans."

"Change them," he said. "As of now, you're the third member of the preparation committee. Summers. Sheila. Meet your new helper." As he left, he was smirking.

Okay, now. This was _not_ going according to canon.


	3. Water Bad

Author's Note: I'm not going to go into every episode at the depth of _School Hard. _This is all more or less by way of introduction.

And yes, I do plan on dealing with _Veronica Mars _stories as well as Buffyverse ones. But the only two Veronica Mars stories that made the transfer over were one, who raped Veronica, and two, who killed Lilly Kane. Still, Veronica is a detective, not a vampire slayer.

Let's hope she remembers that . . .

Disclaimer: _Veronica Mars_ characters belong to Rob Thomas; _Buffy_ characters belong to Joss Whedon. This particular merging is mine.

X X X X X

So I walked over to the table Buffy and Sheila -- good to know her name now -- were standing at. Sheila looked at me in disbelief, "Shit, manhunter. What'd you do to piss the little troll off?" Xander and Willow had taken the time Snyder was dragging me into this to slink off. I couldn't blame them.

"I exist," I said. "And I treat him with the respect he deserves."

Buffy got right away what I meant: None. "Yeah, I can see why that would bother him," she said. "Anyway, welcome to the club, Veronica. We get to paint and decorate and make juice and snacks."

"Sounds like just barrels of fun," I said. "And any club consisting of those Principal Snyder loathes beyond all reason is a club I'm proud and honored to be a member of." As Buffy and even Sheila laughed a little, I looked up and saw Duncan and Logan enter the lounge.

Duncan caught my eye for about a half second before looking away. I'd say it was half the drugs he was no doubt still taking, and half his ongoing shame at having slept with his "sister." I wanted to go up and tell him what had happened, but I couldn't do that either.

Just like I couldn't tell Dad that Aaron Echolls had killed Lilly. Not yet, anyway. Not telling anyone about their futures encompassed those I'd dragged in here with me, not just the Buffy characters.

Obviously, I'd been wrong about one thing, anyway: The Buffyverse could change. It was not necessarily destined to run the same course it had the first time.

Of course, I'm not arrogant enough to believe that my mere presence would cause Spike to change his plans. (That I wasn't too thrilled at being front and center for _School Hard II: School Harder_ was, of course, a given.) I'd almost certainly just be one more body for Spike to step over on his way to trying to kill Buffy.

But the point is, he'd still have to step over my body. (Okay, time to stop thinking like that, Veronica.) So _something had changed_. No matter how trivial it was.

If my accidental presence could change things, maybe my intentional presence could do so as well. I'd been instructed not to _tell_ anyone about their futures. I'd never been told not to _do_ anything about them.

Hmmm.

And back to reality; Duncan and Logan had entered the lounge. And while Duncan hovered around the edges, Logan made a beeline for me. Oh, goody. Just what I needed right now. A visit from Sunnydale's premier psychotic jackass while he's at his psychotic jackassiest.

"Well, well," he said. "The two craziest women at Sunnydale High. Stories of your exploits are legendary. So, tell me. What did the two of you do to get stuck with Mars? I'm imagining blasphemy of the highest order."

At this point, it was more or less expected of me to strike back. Much as I might want our relationship to be what it was after Beaver Casablancas threw himself off the roof of the Neptune Grand, it wasn't that now, and possibly would never be that way.

It was something I would have to work on. Whether Logan and I are destined to be each other's "true loves" aside, it would be nice to have fewer enemies.

So, I struck back. "Logan Echolls!" I said with mock enthusiasm. "As I live and vomit. Run out of ninth graders to shake down for their lunch money?" It was a shot where it counted. Much as Logan might rejoice in being a jackass, he would never do anything as plebeian as beat up ninth graders for pocket change.

"I thought I'd go for something that was more of an intellectual challenge," Logan said. "Any idea where I can find one?"

Good return shot. "For you, Logan?" I said. "Kindergarten's two miles down that way. In the elementary school. Can't miss it."

Logan opened his mouth, but Buffy interrupted him. "Logan, if you don't have anything useful to contribute -- which as near as I can tell is pretty much all the time -- the exit is over there. Doorknob, ass, way out, yada yada yada."

"Or what?" Logan asked sardonically. "You'll burn down my house?"

"We crazy women are unpredictable that way," Buffy said. "Kind of what makes us crazy." For her part, Sheila was glaring at as though she wanted to chop him into tiny pieces. To be fair, that was how she glared at everyone, but still.

Logan shook his head. "What the hell is it about this school and short blonde women?" he said, collected Duncan, and walked off.

"Thanks," I told Buffy as Logan and Duncan left. Then, because there was no way I _should_ know about much of Buffy's past, I asked, "Burn down his house?"

"Long story," Buffy said.

I could see it coming. Sheila said, "Troll said she burned down the gym at her old school."

Buffy looked at me and said, "Apparently not that long." I knew she was going to say that

"Did you really burn it down?" Sheila asked.

"I had a good reason to," Buffy said, somewhat lamely.

Sheila laughed. "Any reason's god to me."

We got to work.

I volunteered to make the juice. I remembered what happened the last time.

X X X X X

I dropped by Dad's office and caught up on some paperwork, then did homework until night fell. I wasn't working on any cases at the moment either.

And yes, I still worked on cases. The people of Sunnydale High might not have liked me very much, but they were perfectly willing to pay me to find things, track people down, or figure out whether their girlfriends were cheating. But at the moment, I wasn't doing any of them.

Even if they were, I was going to take the night off. I had an idea. A dangerous idea, but definitely an idea.

First things: I had to start acting like vampires were real. Because, after all, they were. I had a cross necklace, thankfully; a gift from Lilly. Looking out for me from beyond the grave in two different universes.

On second thought, "beyond the grave" had an entirely different meaning in the Buffyverse. Time to scratch that phrase permanently from my vocabulary.

Here, those dreams I was having of Lilly might very well actually be of Lilly, and not just of my own creation.

I talked to Dad briefly before I left the office. He was hot on the trail of the Bailjumper and promised we'd eat steak as soon as he got back.

"I'm looking forward to it." I said. "'cause I know that guy. He's never gonna see you comin'."

"Damn right he won't," Dad said. "Be careful, sweetie. You know Sunnydale's dangerous after dark.

Oh, Dad. You don't know the half of it.

When we stopped talking, I racked my memory to figure out where the magic store was. Giles took it over in season 5; he didn't open it himself. After five minutes of that, it hit me how stupid I was being. I didn't need to rely on my memory; not when I had a Yellow Pages.

It took me thirty seconds to find the store, and ten minutes to get there. (As Cordelia famously remarked, "There's not a whole lot of town.") Once there, I loaded up on holy water while taking a pass on the garlic. I don't think it was ever established in canon whether Buffyverse vampires were vulnerable to garlic, but I wasn't going to be the one doing any experimenting.

Then I stopped off at the toy store and picked up a couple of mini Super-Soakers, and a garden-variety water pistol. I was sure I'd picked up the idea of loading up a water gun with holy water from somewhere in the vast realm of pop culture, but I was damned if I could remember where.

And now it was time to see whether my presence could change more than just trivial things.

X X X X X

I spent most of the rest of the night at The Bronze. I was there when Spike yelled out, "Where's the phone? I need to call the police. There's some big guy out there trying to bite somebody." I did not run to the door; now wasn't the time to get the Scooby gang falling all over themselves trying to come up with pseudo-explanations of what I just saw.

Besides, I wasn't there for them.

I drank several sodas -- boy, would it be fun trying to get to sleep tonight -- and kept my subject under observation, in the meantime playing a game of pool, at which I suck, against someone who sucked only marginally less than I did (Jonathan Levinson, who seemed flustered that I was even talking to him), and reading a poem by William Wordsworth for English -- _Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey_. I'd never actually read it before, so this was kind of enjoyable.

And then my target -- Sheila-- made her move. Uncharacteristically, I was wearing a hooded jacket; as I followed her out, I pulled it up over my head, and put on a pair of sunglasses. I was about thirty feet behind her.

"Alright," she said. "Which one's Dwayne and which one's Dell. Don't tell me . . ." And then I noticed a pair of arms reach out to grab Dwayne; I shot those arms with a burst from my Supersoaker.

"Jesus Christ!" A familiar voice yelled. Spike. He abandoned all attempts at subtlety and came out into the alley. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Making my voice as deep as I could, I said, "You're not killing her." I wasn't nearly as calm as I felt. I was ready to bolt for the Bronze if I had to. Yes, it was a public place, but at the moment Spike was alone.

Sheila said, "Killing who?" still rather drunkenly.

Spike sighed. "I was gonna make this subtle. But since you ladies insist." His game face came out.

Let me tell you: Seeing it on TV, seeing it in person? Two entirely different things, It took everything I had not to turn and run like hell.

Which is what Dell and Dwayne were doing. If they kept up that pace they'd be in Kern County in about twenty minutes. Sheila, on the other hand, was too stunned, drunk, or probably both to do the same. She said, "What the fuck?"

"It's just as easy to kill two of you," Spike said. I wasn't about to bother with more banter. I simply emptied both Super-Soakers directly into his face. He yelled, "You _bitch!" _and ran off down the alley.

I made soothing noises to Sheila, waited for a large group of people to come out, and walked to my car. And since I hadn't saved Sheila just to prove I could change the future, she came with me.

I'd proven I could do two things tonight.

One, I'd proven I could face off against a vampire, though believe you me it wasn't something I was planning on doing on a regular basis.

Two, I'd proven I could change the future.

I'm not sure which one was scarier.


	4. As You Were Sleeping

Disclaimer: Joss, Rob Thomas, Rob aka Mediancat; _Buffy, Veronica Mars_, this particular merging.

X X X X X

I dreamed of Lilly that night. We were sitting on a dock as the sun was going down. I didn't know if I was supposed to be in Sunnydale or Neptune.

"Welcome to your new world, Veronica Mars," Lilly said.

"So you know?"

"I know what you know," she said. "And you know you're in a new world, and so do I." She gave a Lilly impression of being in serious thought. "I wonder who I was sleeping with here." Then she laughed. "Whoever they were, they were good-looking and they loved me."

"Everyone loved you, Lilly," I said. And it was almost true.

Which Lilly picked up on right away. "Almost everyone," she said.

"Yeah. Aaron. Do you know how hard it was to track him down the first time?"

She smiled a dazzling smile. "Of course I do, silly! I was right there with you the whole way. Anyway, it should be easier this time. You already know the beginning and end of the story; all you have to do is write the middle."

"All I have to do, in addition to dodging vampires and demons, you mean." And anyway, sometimes writing the middle of the story was the hardest part.

She sighed. "Every life has to have some challenges, Veronica Mars."

"I'm fairly sure mine has more than most."

X X X X X

I woke up early from the dream. Sheila was exactly where I'd left her: Passed out on the couch.

I'd had no choice, though Dad wouldn't be too happy with me giving someone like Sheila unfettered access to house. I had no idea where she lived, and she'd been in no condition to tell me. I'd practically had to carry her into the house. And she weighed more than I did.

Of course, so did some greyhounds, so that wasn't exactly the best measure of things. Still, what would you have done?

I wouldn't even have left Logan or Xander there. Aaron Echolls, now, that was another story. Celeste Kane?

Well, let's just hope it never comes to that. I'm honestly not so sure I'd make the right decision.

Anyway, the Mars Sunnydale apartment was exactly like our Neptune digs, only completely different. It was a second-story walkup, not part of a converted hotel; it was laid out differently (hell, the kitchen was actually a separate room, albeit one you couldn't have fir more than two people into without Crisco and a shoehorn); and the furniture was different.

But it was still the same place. I can't explain it any more clearly than that.

As I got dressed, it occurred to me that I was wrong when I compiled that list of who'd made the transfer to Sunnydale with me; I'd missed one. Said missing individual was currently standing by the front door of the apartment, holding his leash in his mouth.

No, it wasn't Clarence Weidman.

"Just a second, Backup," I whispered. I'd give Sheila until he and I got back from his morning walk. If she wasn't up by then -- 

She was, if barely. Her eyes were open and she was shading her eyes against the reflection off of one of the pictures on the wall. "Where the fuck am I?" she asked in a loud voice, then winced, as I closed the apartment door.

"You're in the fabulous Casa de Mars," I said. "You're lucky. Normally we charge twenty bucks for the tour. So. How much do you remember about last night?" I was hoping like hell the answer would be, "not much."

Life, as ever, continued to disappoint. Sheila visibly started thinking. "I was coming out of the Bronze with those two guys who said they had a Caddy," she said.

"Then . . .?" I said, hoping that the answer would be something on the order of, "And that's when things got fuzzy."

No such luck. "And then," she said, "And then . . . that blond guy with the funny accent came out and said that he was going to kill me. His face got really weird -- and then someone shot him in the face with a water gun, and he yelled and ran away." Then she frowned. "What the hell was wrong with his face? And why would he run away just because his face got wet?"

I shrugged. "How should I know? Honestly, when I found you you were so out of it I wouldn't be surprised if you'd said you'd seen elephants flying by."

She sat up, slowly. "No," she said, shaking her head and regretting it immediately. "I've been wasted enough to know what it does to me. I don't see things." Another frown. "And that was you last night with the water gun."

"What?" I said, convincingly, I hoped. "No, I just saw you staggering down the alley --"

"Don't bullshit me, manhunter," she said. "That was you with the Supersoakers. What the hell were they full of? Some kind of pepper spray or something? The guy was yelling like a sunuvabitch when he was running off."

And Sheila had just provided me with an out. "Exactly," I said. "That way you don't have to get up close and personal with the muggers; you can take them out from a distance."

"Smart," she said. "I could use me one of those. Sometimes guys get a little too rowdy, you know what I'm saying'?"

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

She shrugged. "'scool if you can't. I'll just make up my own. Can't be that hard." She tried standing up.

The concept of this borderline psychopath attempting to make her own pepper spray was thoroughly unnerving -- and she didn't strike me as a secret chemistry whiz, either. "Stick with vinegar," I said. "Maybe put a little hot sauce into it." What the hell was I doing giving her ideas?

Answer: Because I was still trying to steer her away from the truth about the situation. Vampires might be real, but I so wasn't the one to be giving the explanation. And anyway, Sheila would be just as likely to think it was cool as recoil in fear, assuming she believed me at all. Unlike the Scooby Gang, I didn't have ready access to a friendly vampire for proof.

Holy crap. On top of everything else, I now had that to worry about. Because no way, no how was I going to suffer through a town with Spike, Drusilla, and Angelus.

"Not a bad idea," she said. "You sure you're the smartest kid in school 'cause you ain't acting like any geek I ever met before."

"Smartest?" Wow, was _that_ my rep? No wonder Willow didn't think much of me. At this point, her intelligence and her hacking skills were pretty much all she had to fall back on.

I have a theory about Willow and why she ultimately went bad in season 6. I hope I'm not around long enough to test it out.

I went on, "Naah. I just study like a madwoman. Anyway, it's time to get going."

"School?" She asked it as though I'd just asked her to throw herself off a twenty-story building.

"You don't have to go to school, but you can't stay here," I said. "I'll give you a ride if you want."

She shrugged. "What the hell. Might be fun watching the troll drop dead when he sees me there that early. Anyway, I owe you."

"You owe me?"

"Whoever the hell that blond bastard with the funny accent was last night, he was gonna hurt me till you showed up. So yeah, I owe you."

"No, really," I said. "I would have done it for anyone --"

"But you did it for me," Sheila said with a hint of irritation in her voice. "Look, whether you want me to or not, I owe you my life and I'm gonna pay you back. Deal with it."

I succumbed to the inevitable. "Okay, then. This is me dealing with it."

I fed Backup, told him to be a good dog, and left.

Sheila gave him a quick pat, too. Backup accepted it, which was weird. He's usually a pretty good judge of character.

X X X X X

The school day was the school day. Snyder didn't actually have a heart attack when he saw me and Sheila walk in together, but his eyes did bug out amusingly.

Buffy and Sheila and I spent out allegedly free period fine-tuning the decorations for parent-teacher night, with occasional sniping from Xander, who was taking a hands-off approach just in case Snyder walked back into the room.

Finally I said, "Are you actually going to be doing anything, or just standing there thinking you're funny."

"Standing here thinking I'm funny," he said after a second. "It's a talent of mine."

"Well, good," I said. "You found one. First time for everything, I suppose."

"Ahh, you're just jealous 'cause you haven't run across one yet," Xander said.

That was so untrue it as funny. But, to my surprise, Sheila said, "Shut it, Harris. Manhunter's the smartest person in this school and she helps her dad with the whole detective thing." Buffy was determinedly applying tape to the back of a poster, ignoring the whole exchange. She wouldn't be ignoring it for long, was my bet.

"When did you become her biggest defender?" Xander demanded

"Since she saved my ass last night from some blond guy wanted to kill me," Sheila said.

Oh, crap. I should have made that bet. Buffy whirled in place, then quickly and futilely tried to cover her burning interest. "Blond guy?" she asked.

"Saved?" Xander said.

I couldn't very well shut Sheila up now, not without my taser -- and here, eight years ago, I didn't have one. Too bad. "Yeah. Guy came after me and two guys and manhunter here shot him with a Supersoaker full of some kind of pepper spray --"

"My very own recipe," I said.

"And he ran off," Sheila finished.

"Did this blond guy talk with a British accent?"

"I really couldn't tell," I said. "I was too busy noticing him trying to kill Sheila."

"I dunno," Sheila said. "But it wasn't American."

"Um, I have to go," Buffy said. "Xander? Willow?"

"Sure," Xander said. "It'll be more fun than watching Veronica Mars. But then, really, what isn't?"

Buffy looked at Veronica and Sheila and said, "Cover for me?" 

Sheila shrugged. "Sure. You do for me, I do for you. 'scool."

I said I would as well, and they left.

Hmmm. I hoped my name wouldn't feature too prominently in any of this.

In the meantime, there was juice to be made.


	5. Bring on Parent Teacher Night

Disclaimer: Joss, Rob Thomas, Rob aka Mediancat; _Buffy, Veronica Mars_, this particular merging.

X X X X X

I wasn't entirely sure how Buffy had made her lemonade in the original timeline, but I had a simpler way which didn't involve any risk of me accidentally leaving sugar out of it: It's called CountryTime powdered lemonade. I picked up six containers at the grocery store, and a big bag of ice. (It didn't surprise me in the least that Snyder was forcing one of us to pay for it.)

After I swung by home and dropped off my groceries, I went back to the magic store and bought more holy water. While I was there, I made an arrangement with the owner to lay away a regular supply. When her eyebrows rose, I said, "It's a dangerous town."

"Most people's reaction to a dangerous town is to learn self-defense, buy a gun, or leave. Not lay in a supply of holy water," the owner said as she rang up the sale.

"It's not that kind of danger," I said.

"Would you be interested in anything else?" she asked. "We have a supply of crosses --"

"Got the necklace," I said. "And I'm not going out of my way to look for trouble. I'm not a hunter; I'm a detective."

"Smart girl," she said.

If I were smart, I wouldn't be in this problem in the first place. If I were smart, I'd have packed the car as soon as I got here, stuck Backup in the back seat, and not stopped driving until I was in somewhere safer.

Two things prevented that, and that wasn't even including that Dad would track me down and drag me back.

One, was there anywhere in the Buffyverse that _was_ truly out of harm's way? Yeah, Sunnydale in the Buffyverse was the equivalent of being a red shirt on _Star Trek_, but unless I was willing to set up shop on a deserted island, there wasn't anywhere completely not dangerous.

(And the deserted island? Probably attracted a stray demon or two. So even that, likely not safe.)

Two, if I left Sunnydale, I'd never be able to prove that Aaron had killed Lilly; and I'd never be able to find out who raped me.

I already had plans for the second. I had no idea how big a gap there was between _School Hard _and _Inca Mummy Girl, _but there would certainly be plenty of time for me to get an investigation started. The first one, unfortunately, was just going to have to play out for the moment.

It wasn't something I was looking forward to. The original investigation had been nerve-wracking; and long after I'd come to terms with Duncan having been inadvertently responsible for one of the worst moments of my life -- and how much does it suck that being raped, one, two, three, maybe four times is only _one _of the worst moments in my life? -- I'd found out that no, I actually _had_ been raped -- and not that any time to be told that is happy fun time, but those were particularly bad circumstances.

Living through them again was almost more than I could stand.

The key word, of course, is "almost." Because you know me. The only thing I can't stand more is not knowing.

I stopped by the office, called a couple of people back, and headed home.

I loaded up both Supersoakers and the hand-held water pistol, walked Backup, and headed back to the school.

As I drove, I thought. Was there anything else I could do?

Answer: Not directly. At this point, if I remembered correctly, the Slayerettes were in the library making stakes while Buffy was chopping vegetables. Parent-Teacher night officially began in about an hour, and the attack began . . . Damn. I didn't know. I knew when, more or less, assuming Spike's blind rage didn't lead him to start busting up the place earlier -- it was right as an angry Joyce Summers came out of a conference with Snyder. I had to keep my eyes and ears open, and my Supersoaker at the ready.

Then I had to be ready to run like hell.

X X X X X

An hour and ten minutes later, I was doling out lemonade to parents -- next to Sheila, to my surprise.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be here," I said.

She didn't take offense. "'scool. I owe you, manhunter; and I can't pay you back if I'm not nearby. Yeah, there're a lot more fun things to be doing right about now -- a lot more fun guys to be doing, too. But I'm here."

I reached into my bag and fished out one of the Supersoakers. No, I wasn't entirely sure of Sheila at this point; but I knew if she saw Spike again she'd have no hesitation on blasting him with it. (And if I waited until I completely trusted people to negotiate with them, I'd be waiting forever. Trust as a commodity? Not something that came easily to me.) "And I didn't get you anything," she said.

"Just in case," I said.

"What? You think someone's gonna attack us tonight?"

"No," I lied. "But it never hurts to play it safe. Besides, honestly? If you're going to be going around at night, getting drunk, and heading home with guys just because they say they have a Caddy, maybe a little self-defense wouldn't hurt."

"You judging me?" she asked, a bit defensively.

"Morally? No. what you do on your own time is your business. Drink yourself into oblivion, sleep with a guy a night, party till you're broke and they drag you away. It's okay. I'm not like some people; I don't like telling other people what to do." Well, not as a long-term thing, anyway. To solve a case? Sure. But that was a different matter. And that was more manipulation than "telling," anyway. "But intellectually, yes. This is a dangerous town, Sheila. You've heard the statistics. I'm guessing you're not interested in becoming one of them."

"No," she said, "I'm not. It's just that, well, there ain't a whole hell else to do around here."

"Yeah, there is," I said. "We don't live in Disneyland, but we don't live on Tristan da Cunha, either. But it's your choice whether you want to do it. Remember, though. This on my chest here? Not a bat symbol. I'm not going to be there every night to pull off a last-second rescue. I'm a detective, not a vigilante. And, anyway, in the condition you were in, you could have been carrying a loaded machine gun and it wouldn't have done you any good."

She laughed at that for a second, but quickly stopped. "Yeah, you're right. Might be smart of me to cut back a bit."

"That's the spirit," I said with mock cheer. "There's a difference between 'buzzed' and 'drunk off your ass.' Learn it, live it, love it."

"Good idea. I don't want to run into that guy again."

And of course, that's where the headaches came in. I wanted to tell her to leave now, but I couldn't. "Well, with any luck, you won't."

"'course, if it's a choice between that guy and the troll over there --" she pointed to where Snyder had just entered the lounge, accompanied by Joyce Summers. He looked around for a second as though he were trying to find something to pin on Sheila and me, but left without saying anything.

Disappointing a person like that? Always good. Made me realize how good things had been with Clemmons. The man had had his faults, but compared to Snyder he was the patron saint of principals.

Snyder and Mrs. Summers left.

Still, that meant the invasion was reasonably imminent. If I remembered correctly, there'd been a cut between the time Snyder'd left the library with Joyce Summers and the time they both stormed back into the lounge, but there was no indication of how long the gap was.

Buffy, Cordelia, and Willow had been in the room when it happened. Cordelia was here, but Buffy and Willow weren't.

"What is that?" came an annoyingly familiar voice from about five feet away.

I looked up into the perpetual scowl of Celeste Kane.

I plastered on a fake grin and said, "Deadly poison! Try some!"

"Very funny, Veronica," she said. "I was expecting something a bit more. . . upscale than powdered lemonade in paper cups, and crudités."

My opinion of Celeste Kane jumped by half a notch. I didn't know she was even aware of the _existence_ of powdered lemonade. "Sorry," I said. "If you wanted something more upscale, maybe you should have chipped in instead of letting Principal Snyder make us cover the costs out of our own pockets."

"Do you have any idea where Mrs. Simms' English class is?" she asked eventually.

"Down the hall that way," Sheila said, pointing. "Past the library. Third door past that."

"Thank you," she said, and left. Once she was clear, Sheila burst out laughing, and after a second, I did, too.

If Celeste followed Sheila's directions, she was going to end up in a broom closet.

Logan and Aaron Echolls walked in thirty seconds later.

To my great surprise, Sheila practically squealed. "Damn," she said. "Movie star like that in our town."

Terrific. My new protector had a crush on Aaron Echolls. "Yeah, we're just boiling over with luck," I said. I couldn't figure out what Aaron was doing there -- until I saw the reporter and the cameraman following him.

Of course. Aaron wouldn't give Logan CPR if there wasn't a camera crew around, much less show any interest in his education.

Thankfully for my rising gorge, Aaron didn't decide that sipping a cup of lemonade would be good for his image; he, Logan, and the crew zoomed right on through. I felt sorry for Logan.

Even the me that had 'grown up' here would have felt sorry for Logan. He caught me looking at him sympathetically and flashed me a completely unreadable look before being whisked away.

Fifteen minutes later, Buffy and Willow came into the lounge. Cordelia had beaten them there by two minutes. "My arms are tired," Cordelia'd said to Buffy. Of course. They'd been whittling stakes.

"By all means, broadcast it, Cordy,' Buffy said, then noticed me and grinned awkwardly.

I nodded back, as though I had no idea what they were talking about. After a second, Buffy came over. "Seen my mom recently?" She asked.

"About twenty minutes ago, she and Snyder walked through. Not since."

"I wonder if I have time to run."

"Wouldn't advise it," I said. "Your mom would hire my dad. My dad can find anyone."

"Yeah," Cordelia said -- when had she walked up? -- "Except the person who killed Lilly."

"We're working on that," I said, refusing to let her bait me. "Come on, Cordelia. You only look and act dumb. Even you can't think Don Lamb's a good sheriff."

"Don Lamb's a vacuous moron," she said. "But even vacuous morons get one right once in a while."

"Not this one, he didn't," I said.

She shrugged. "You want to waste your time denying reality, that's your malfunction," she said. "Me, I like to see things as they really are."

Annoying as Cordelia was being, she wasn't wrong. Of all of the students at Sunnydale high, she was one of the few who'd been able to accept the existence of vampires and the supernatural when they were shoved in her face.

I ended the conversation by turning to Buffy. "Do --" I began.

I never got to complete my thought. Snyder and Joyce Summers came in at that moment, and Mrs. Summers came storming up to her daughter. "In the car, now," she said.

Buffy and Willow exchanged looks. In the meantime, Snyder was turning off the lights.

"I guess the party's over," Sheila said as Buffy and Joyce left the room.

"What was that?" I said.

"What was what?"

"Pull your weapon," I said. When Sheila began to protest, I said, "Pull it!"

She took out the Supersoaker as Snyder flipped off another light.

And that, of course, was when the vampires came crashing through the window.

The next hour or so should be just _loads_ of fun.


	6. School Harder

Author's Note: School Hard more or less ends here. Possibly some mopup next chapter.

Disclaimer: Veronica Mars belongs to Rob Thomas; Buffy to Joss Whedon; and the plotline to me.

Chaos ensued.

People began to run and scream and panic, and a good time was had by all.

That is, if by "all" you mean "a handful of vampires."

Spike's face was raw and scarred. He looked like he'd gotten a sulfuric acid facial. Still, while his face looked like he was ready to audition to play Two-Face in the next Batman movie, his attitude was as cocky as ever. "What can I say?" he said as Buffy came running in. "I couldn't wait."

While Buffy was still staring, Sheila took her Supersoaker and started spraying the invaders. Buffy turned and looked at her but didn't have time to gape at Sheila for more than a split second before she began herding everyone out of the room.

Spike avoided the stream, but a couple of he other vampires weren't as lucky and caught it square in the face. As they both started screaming, Spike said, "Get her!"

Sheila was smart enough to take this as a cue to run like hell. I was right behind her. I still had my Supersoaker in reserve; I hadn't pulled it out yet, I would have if someone had been in trouble enough to need it. I may not be a hero, but I'm not one to cross the street when I hear someone screaming for help. Mostly, it was because I didn't want Spike to realize that I was the one who'd shot him back in the alley -- and if there's one thing he'd know for sure, it was that Sheila _hadn't_ been the initial shooter.

Somehow, though, we weren't following the main group, so we weren't going to end up in the room with Buffy and Snyder. Briefly I wondered if Celeste Kane was smart enough to stay hidden. I hoped so, for Duncan's sake, anyway. I had no use for the woman, but she was his mother.

Still, I bet she and Aaron were going to regret their decision to throw their weight around to make sure they got to go last.

One vampire was following us; the rest had peeled off. I guess Spike had remembered that this was supposed to be about chasing down the vampire slayer, not the chick with the holy water gun.

And speak of the devil.

Or the devil's cameraman, at least. The man stuck his head out of a classroom and said, "We're trying to shoot -- _what_ the hell?"

Sheila didn't bother answering him or introducing herself, unless shoving past him can be counted as an introduction. "Move it, manhunter!" she yelled, and I slipped past the still-bewildered cameraman as the vampire got closer.

"Close the door!" I yelled to the man as I entered the classroom.

The man tried, but didn't make it in time. The vampire grabbed him from behind and yelled him away as he screamed.

Aaron, Logan and the teacher -- Mrs. Gellhorn, she was my English teacher too -- had gotten out of their chairs as soon as Sheila and I entered the room. Aaron had started to ask a question, but stopped when he saw the vampire grab the cameraman. "Peter!" he yelled.

"There are five of us," Logan said, rocking back and forth. "I think we can save him." That didn't surprise me. Even when a psychotic jackass by trade, Logan still didn't like to see genuinely innocent people get hurt.

Aaron looked at Logan; was that a modicum of fatherly pride working its way across his face? No. couldn't be.

The fact that I wasn't giving in to my urge to hit Aaron over the head and throw him out into the hall while the rest of us escape surely earns me a place in the afterlife of my choice.

Sheila held her holy water gun and crept closer to the now-closed door, peered out, then slammed it shut and put her back against it. "No," she said with a pale face, "We won't. Holy fuck, manhunter, what are they?"

"What did you see?" Aaron asked.

"He -- he was ripping his throat out. With his _teeth_." If I thought Sheila had seemed traumatized this morning after remembering being mugged, that was nothing compared to the emotions that were playing out on her face now.

It had to be hard thinking you were big and bad, and finding out that you weren't nearly as big and bad as you thought.

"Do you really want to take someone capable of _that_ on?" I asked Logan. "Now isn't the time to prove your manhood. Now's the time to stay alive."

Don't take this the wrong way, but thank God we weren't still on camera. Otherwise, Aaron might have decided to prove me wrong by storming out there. Which wouldn't have bothered me in the least, except that he would have probably dragged Logan out there with him.

"Sheila has the right idea," I said. "We can't let him get in here. Barricade the door while he's -- busy."

If Aaron or Logan saw anything wrong with me giving orders, they didn't say anything. I didn't know if it was Sheila's reaction or something else, but they scrambled to move the teacher's desk in front of the door. I pulled Sheila out of the way and said, "Get chairs. The desk might not hold him." Behind me, Mrs. Gellhorn, also not having any objections to my being in charge, was already doing just that.

The screams from outside the door had died down. After we had the door well and truly blocked -- which might delay the vampire for a half a minute or so, maybe enough time to get him to want to give up and go home -- Logan said, "Okay, we've followed your orders, commandant Mars. Now, do you want to tell us what's going on, or would prefer that we speculate wildly?"

"Principal Snyder," I said, adding the honorific for Mrs. Gellhorn's benefit -- the woman didn't like Snyder any more than the rest of us did, but she was a stickler for things like that -- "Was just starting to close the lounge down when a gang burst in and started attacking. Sheila managed to fight a couple of them with her 'water' gun and we ran, with one of them right behind us. And you more or less know the rest," I said. "I didn't see what happened to anyone else."

"What do they want?" Aaron asked.

"I doubt it's your autograph," I said. "No offense. I don't want you getting any ideas that you can charm or buy your way out of it."

"Yeah," Sheila said, still shaken. "From what they were doing to your camera guy I don't think they were interested in money."

"So they're just here to cause trouble," Aaron said. "I can work with that too. If they break in here, I'm not going down without a fight." He patted Logan on the back. "Are you with me, son?"

"Right there, Dad," Logan said with mock enthusiasm.

"Nice thought," I said, "But, honestly? More interested in the 'living through the night' part of this scenario than the 'going down fighting' part."

"Me too," Aaron said. "But it doesn't hurt to be ready. Too bad I'm not allowed to bring my gun onto school grounds."

"Yeah, too bad," I said, I hoped not unconvincingly. While Aaron scoured the room for something he could use as a weapon, and Mrs. Gellhorn moved to the far corner of the room, Logan came over to talk with Sheila and me.

"He was really ripping out the woman's throat?" he asked in disbelief.

"You fuckin' think I'd make something like that up?" Sheila said.

"With your track record, it's not statistically impossible," Logan said. "But no, I don't actually think you're lying about this. Trust me. That was still me in stunned shock, not an attack on your credibility, however dubious it may be under normal circumstances. No, I was just going to ask both of you again, a bit more quietly, what the hell's going on out there."

"If I knew anything more, I'd tell you," I said. "No matter how big an ass you can be I haven't actually gotten to the point where I want you dead." I'd actually gotten well past that, of course, but none of that no-longer-existent history was really relevant now.

Sheila said, "You're missing something, manhunter. The guy leading the gang tried to mug me in an alley last night till you drove him off."

Logan said, "What?" With good reason. Guts? Them I had to spare. But I wasn't exactly an action hero. I wished Sheila hadn't mentioned that, but, there not being any convenient vengeance demons nearby, my wish went unfulfilled. "Do you think they came here after you?"

"No," I said. "Honestly, the leader seemed to recognize the Supersoaker, not me. I obviously wasn't going to stick around to let him confirm who I was."

"Guys like this, they don't need a reason," Sheila added. 

"How'd you drive him off?" This from Aaron Echolls, who'd taken a trophy off a shelf along the back wall. It would probably make a halfway decent club, not that it would affect the vampire very much if he hit him with it.

I didn't want to give away my secrets to the man, but I'd been backed into a corner. "See what Sheila's carrying?"

"The big bad gang members were afraid of a water pistol?" Logan asked.

"Hey, don't hate on the Supersoaker," I said. "It's got super pressure action that can shoot a stream of water thirty feet." I paused, then added, "Anyway, it's not water in there." Well, not _plain_ water, anyway. I hoped they'd resist the urge to drink it.

"Really?" Aaron seemed interested. "What is it? Some kind of acid?"

"That would probably melt through the plastic, father dear," Logan said.

"Call it a form of liquid pepper spray," I said. "Anyway -- is he still out there?"

"I hope not," Sheila said.

"I think it's fairly safe to say that's a hope shared by all of us," Logan said.

I wasn't sure of the timeline here. It had been -- I checked my watch -- about twenty minutes since the vampires attacked. Was Buffy in the ventilation system? I didn't know.

I did know that Xander had left early, trying to track down Angel. What I didn't know was how much our presence was throwing things off. Was keeping this one vampire here going to help or hurt Buffy?

Was she even in the ceiling yet?

We were in a second-story classroom without convenient roof access, and unlike the ones in the movie, _these _vampires couldn't fly, so barring one doing a Peter Parker imitation, the only access was through the door.

A pounding could be heard from the outside. I hate it when I'm right.

The vampire must have finished off the poor cameraman, because he was now doing his best to smash down the door. Aaron and Logan went over and put their shoulders to the desk. I had to give Aaron Echolls credit for physical courage, if nothing else.

While this door wasn't as sturdy as the ones in the science classroom where Joyce and Snyder had holed up, backed by three hundred pounds of furniture and two determined humans it was just strong enough to hold out one vampire.

For about ten minutes.

Then the desk gave way as Aaron and Logan scrambled to get out of the way of the flying chairs. Logan succeeded; Aaron didn't. One of them caught him on the back of the head. Sheila may have been somewhat traumatized, but she didn't let that stop her from using the last of the holy water to spray the vampire in the face and hands as he cleared away the chairs and finished shoving the desk out of the way. Mrs. Gellhorn was screaming.

Unfortunately, while this was enough to hurt the vamp, it wasn't enough to make him run away. Even as his face burned, he came storming into the room.

My turn. I pulled out the water pistol as he got closer and fired. All I can say is, I'm lucky I don't have to do that for a living. I only hit him once in three shots, but that once was right in the eye. He yelled and turned towards me.

Frantically, I backed away as he approached --

And tripped over the prone body of Aaron Echolls.

Logan, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet and now, with a chair in his hands, smashed the vampire in the back of the head as hard as he could.

He went down and stayed there.

Only a temporary reprieve, of course. I told Logan to get everyone else out of there.

"What are you going to do? Roll him for beer money?"

"You know me so well. Now move."

"Aye aye, Captain," he said.

Sheila left last. I didn't know how long I had -- maybe seconds. But I couldn't leave this vampire alive behind us. No, I'm not a vampire slayer. But I'm also not

I grabbed a pencil from the desk, then ripped open his shirt and took my Supersoaker -- unused, unlike Sheila's -- and emptied the tank directly over the vampire's heart. He woke up as his flesh started burning.

See, this was my thinking: I'm not strong enough to stake one. But some holy water should help. Before he could do more than scream, I shoved the pencil into his heart and he became dust.

I turned around --

And saw Logan standing there.

"What the hell?" he asked.

Well, great.


	7. You Say You Want A Revelation

"Veronica, what just happened?" Logan asked after I didn't answer him within ten seconds.

"We don't have time for long answers, and no short answer I get is going to satisfy you," I said, getting up.

"Really."

"Would you believe it was a trick of the light?"

"No."

"Then trust me on this one," I said. "Where's your father?"

Logan gave a half-grin. "Daddy Dearest regained consciousness as I was lugging him out of the classroom. He's busy right now leading Sheila and Mrs. Gellhorn to 'safety.' I'm sure any cameras out there will be treated to an earful of his heroism."

I listened. No sounds of fighting could be heard from anywhere in the building. I was hoping that meant the battle was completely over.

The student lounge was trashed and empty when we got to it. "I guess the invasion is over," I said. "We have successfully beaten off the barbarian hordes."

"I hardly think that's likely, Mars," Logan said. "More likely that they had their fun and left."

I got the feeling I was forgetting something --

Of course.

The end of the episode showed Xander, Buffy, Snyder and Angel outside while Cordelia and Willow were still trapped in a closet. "Hold on a second," I said. Now where had they gone to?

It took me a couple of minutes, but I eventually found the right door. "About damn time," Cordelia said as she pushed past me.

"You're welcome," I said. "Happy to help."

"What happened to you?" Willow asked. I gave a brief recounting of our adventures with the marauding 'gang member,' finishing with, "And then, I guess, he got bored and ran off." I couldn't resist adding, "They were gang members, right?"

"Of course!" she blurted. "Ordinary, everyday gang members. Nothing strange about them. And they were probably on drugs!"

Logan knew better, but he wasn't about to blow the secret; not, I was guessing, when he could torture me about it later. "That would explain why he ripped out the cameraman's throat," he said.

"Yeah, it would," Cordelia said. "Anyway. Thanks for the getting us free and all that, and you can believe you me that Buffy's going to hear an earful about this later --"

"Why? Did she shove you in there in the first place?" I asked innocently.

"No," she said. "Never mind. I've just been trapped in a closet and I really don't want to hear any more gory details about what happened. Make me throw up, why don't you, Echolls? So, if you'll excuse me, I need to go shower."

"Maybe if we're lucky," Logan commented to me _sotto voce_, "She'll wash away her attitude as well." Logan and Cordelia had never gotten along. It was partly a matter of high school politics -- no matter that she was the acknowledged "Queen C" of Sunnydale High, Cordelia would never be able to overtake the status of "son of movie star,", and this was made only marginally better by his usual refusal to capitalize on his status -- and partly a genuine personality conflict. They genuinely loathed each other; and this wasn't the kind of love-hate thing that Xander and Cordelia had for each other, either.

For his part, Logan saw Cordelia as someone who'd climbed over Lilly's bleeding body to obtain her current status. No matter that Lilly and Cordelia had actually gotten along; they'd been after different things. Lilly wanted to be the one everyone loved, and Cordelia wanted to be the trendsetter. Two different things, and they co-existed surprisingly well. They hadn't been friends, but friendly rivals.

Surprisingly, Willow laughed. "There's not that much soap in all of Southern California. But Cordelia has her moments. Few and far between, but they do exist. I swear. Anyway. Thank you, Veronica. Really. I don't know how long we could have been stuck in there."

Now it was my turn to be surprised. Willow was being reasonably pleasant to me. Usually she curt, like Xander was. "You're welcome."

She smiled briefly, and we walked outside. In the distance, I could see Celeste Kane talking to a police officer. Good. She'd survived the night.

Willow peeled off to find Xander and Buffy and Angel, wherever they were. Sheila was nowhere in sight.

Right in front of the school, there was already a camera crew there, talking to Aaron Echolls.

Some truths apparently were multiverse.

"So, Mars," Logan said. "Are you going to tell me what that was?"

"Not like I owe you anything, but yes. Just not tonight."

"Fair enough. But it had better be one damned spectacular explanation."

Oh, it would be.

As we passed the flagpole, Snyder and Lamb were busy discussing what kind of story to feed the press.

"The usual? Gangs on PCP?" Lamb said.

Once again, I couldn't resist. "PCP? Deputy, didn't _any_ of that anti-drug training take root? PCP doesn't make people act like that. I'm thinking it was crystal meth, myself."

"And how would you know the effects of methamphetamine, Mars?" Snyder asked.

"I read," I said.

As Logan and I left, I could hear Snyder saying, "Let's go with meth."

I laughed, said a reasonably civil goodbye to Logan, and headed home.

X X X X X

The next week or so passed relatively smoothly, as events in Sunnydale go. Spike was off licking his wounds -- or Drusilla was licking them for him -- and I solved a minor mystery for a freshman: whether his girlfriend was cheating on him. (She wasn't, but once she found out that he'd hired me, she dumped him anyway. The way the world works sometimes, unfortunately.)

Two important things happened.

First was the triumphal return of one Keith Mars. Flush with success and money, though horrified about what had happened at the school.

After fervently thanking assorted deities that I'd made it through in one piece, he finished with, "And let me guess," he said. "Don Lamb only showed up too late to do anything."

"Pretty much," I said. "Talking things over with Principal Snyder, trying to figure out what perfume is going to make it smell the sweetest."

"No matter how much perfume they spray, sweetie, it's still going to be a big steaming pile of doggie poo."

"You know, Dad, I _do_ know the word you're trying to avoid saying."

"As far as I'm concerned, the only word you know for that is 'poo,' and it's the only one you will ever know."

"Dung." I said.

"I'm not listening."

"Feces." He stood up. "Excrement." He began to walk back to his bedroom. I shouted, "Droppings!" behind him as he shut the door.

God, it's good to have him back.

Second was my discussion with Logan -- and Sheila, who recovered from her ordeal the night before, but who definitely seemed to have been changed by it. She was still doing the "I'm a badass" routine, but now it was definitely only a routine, and she knew it. She'd shown up to school on time every day, and hadn't been more than smartassed to the teachers. No, she hadn't been scared straight, but she seemed determined not to end up the victim she'd nearly become.

And she was still hanging around with me. God help me, I'd made a friend, whether I wanted one or not.

We met at the office. Dad was taking a well-earned day off -- he could afford to, having made five thousand dollars off the Bailjumper, which converted to a bit under thirty-five hundred after expenses, but still, enough that he could take a day and recover from the bumps and bruises the guy had inflicted. Some bail jumpers gave up as soon as they were caught. This guy, however, had been determined not to go gentle into that good night, and fought back.

Anyway, that meant I didn't have to worry about him listening in. Which was good, because he definitely didn't want to hear what I was saying. I'd refilled the two Supersoakers and the water pistol with holy water.

"Okay," I said once they were both there. "The best way to go about this, Logan, is for you to tell me what you saw in the classroom a couple of nights ago."

"Why? So you can figure out what lie to tell me?"

I laughed. "I could have told you to go take a flying leap off the top of the Bronze. I didn't. Now. What did you see?"

He said, "After Daddy Dearest woke up, I got worried about you."

"Aww. How sweet."

"Don't let it go to your head, Mars; I would've come back for anyone. Well, possibly not Cordelia. Anyway, when I pushed open the door you were dumping the Supersoaker there onto the guy's chest, which was starting to burn. Then you shoved a pencil into his heart -- and he disappeared in a cloud of dust."

Sheila looked at him. "What've you been smokin', Echolls? 'cause if it's that good, I want some."

"Sheila, what did you see the night I rescued you?"

She frowned, but said, "The blond guy jumped me in the alley off the Bronze, you shot him with your mixture, he ran away. That's pretty much it."

"Didn't you say something else about him?"

After a second, she said, "Yeah. His face seemed distorted. But then, I _know _I was on something -- enough booze to float a motorboat."

"Well, I wasn't on anything," Logan said. "I indulge, but somehow the middle of a film shoot aimed at showing what a great Dad Aaron Echolls is seemed like poor timing. So, Mars: Assuming she saw what she saw and I saw what I saw, what's the explanation?"

"You're not going to believe me."

"Try me."

"Yeah, manhunter. 'scool. I'll believe you." She really seemed like she would. I must use this power only for good.

"First things first," I said. Then I took out the Supersoaker, pumped it a couple of times, and fired it at both of them.

"What the --" Logan said, jumping backwards, while Sheila said, "Are you trying --"

At about the same time they realized nothing was burning. Experimentally, Logan rubbed his hand through the water dripping down his face and put it in his mouth. "It's just water." Sheila did the same thing and apparently reached the same conclusion.

"It's always been water," I said. "But a particular kind."

"And that would be?" Logan said.

"Holy water." When neither of them said anything in the next ten seconds, I spelled it out. "They weren't gang members. They were vampires."

"Vampires aren't real."

"Was the way that man disappeared real? Was the way he ripped out the throat of your father's poor cameraman real? Was the blond guy's disfigured face real?"

Sheila surprised me then. She said, "Occam's fuckin' razor. Easiest explanation that fits the evidence is the right one."

"I know what it is," Logan said. "I'm surprised you do."

"Just 'cause I think the teachers around here would have trouble spelling dog if you spotted 'em the D and the O doesn't mean I'm stupid. I read." She said. "And, dammit, but thinking those guys were vampires is easier than coming up with any other explanation that fits. What? Special effects? Smoke and mirrors? A gang hopped up on meth? Uh-uh. Manhunter says vampires, I'm goin' with vampires."

Logan said, "Okay, Mars. Now that we know this, what do we do?"

"Buy yourself a cross and a holy water gun and run like hell if you see one. We're not equipped to fight things like that any more than I could go ten rounds with Evander Holyfield."

"But why aren't the police -- no. Dumb question. Don Lamb would have trouble finding a black cat on an ice floe."

"Do you believe me?"

"I'm not sure," Logan said. "I think I need proof. But at the same time, I hope like hell I never see any."

"I know what you mean," Sheila said. "Still, better to know than not, you know?"

X X X X X

Things kind of wound down after that. The only visible difference was my new buddy Sheila, and that Logan wasn't giving me as hard a time as before. "Inca Mummy Girl" almost snuck past without me noticing. Oh, I was on the trip to the museum, but otherwise I think I saw Ampata maybe once, from a distance.

Anyway, I was doing more important things at this point.

Like trying to find out who raped me.


	8. Don't Lie to Me

I hated having to go through the motions to find out something I already knew, but the entity who stuck me here had made the conditions clear. I couldn't simply go up to Duncan and say, "Why did you do that?"

I _could_ pretend that I remembered, but then I really wouldn't have any excuse to investigate -- and Duncan would wonder why I was so upset nearly a year later, if I remembered. He'd believed it was consensual -- and had never brought it up because of his guilt, because he also believed I was his half-sister. (And _that's_ one thing that had damn well better not have changed. Jake Kane is not someone I ever want to be related to. In any universe.)

So part of this was me going over the same things I'd gone over before. Still, different people and a different party meant a different investigation, even if it had led to the same damn result.

One little bit of good news: whoever my second rapist had been, presuming he existed, he had _not_ given me chlamydia. A quiet trip to an out-of-town doctor had proven that. Nor were there any other nasty surprises lurking in my vagina. A minor blessing in the overall course of events, but definitely a blessing. If nothing else, it was one less thing Aaron Echolls' lawyers could throw at me when the time came for his trial.

So: _Inca Mummy Girl_ was done; _Reptile Boy_, which I also had no plans to crash, was in the future. Where to begin?

The first time I'd gone through this. I'd had a clear starting point: Meg Manning. No Meg in this universe meant that pretty much _everyone_ at this party would have stepped over my corpse for the free gum.

With, perhaps, one exception. Not the ideal person to start with, but Logan, at the moment at least, wasn't looking at me like I was lower than pond scum every time he saw me.

So. Best face forward, Veronica. After science class -- we had a pop quiz I could have A'd in my sleep, and very nearly did -- I tapped Logan on the shoulder. "Got a minute?"

"Just because we share a secret doesn't make us the best of friends," he said.

"Really? Gosh darn it! I'd better cancel those skywriters. And they were set to emblazon our friendship across the Sunnydale sky for all to see, too."

He sighed and leaned against a locker. "What do you want, Veronica?"

Good. Resigned. Just the way I like 'em. "Do you remember Cordelia Chase's Christmas party?"

"Yes. Even if nothing else had happened, I'd remember it for the charming way she invited me. She threw the invitation in my face, said, 'Just because I have to give you this thing doesn't mean you have to show up,' and stormed off. I chuckled and threw the thing in the trash, only to have Daddy Dearest tell me that I had to attend." The search for status made people do strange things. So did a sense of obligation, which was the only reason I'd shown up, well after I was on the path to becoming the school pariah.

"Yeah, well, here's the thing. I don't."

"You don't?" he said in surprise. "I was thinking from the way you acted it would have been a night you would never forget." He shrugged. "Your life must be more exciting than I thought."

"It isn't," I said. "I remember the first hour or so, and then nothing."

Frowning, he said, "This isn't a part of one of your investigations, is it?"

"It is. I'm investigating what happened to me at the party. That's it."

"What's the next thing you remember?"

"Waking up the next morning in a guest bedroom," I said. "You're not getting any more details."

"I don't _want_ any more details. Look. This is too complicated to get into now. We'll have to talk after school get out. Word of warning, though, Mars: These are things you might not want to know about yourself."

"I didn't say I wanted to know," I said. "I have to know."

"See you then."

X X X X X

Buffy and I chatted briefly during lunch; she was clumsily trying to find out how I'd known to use holy water when Spike had attacked. Honestly, if she'd come out and flat out asked me, I might have told her -- no, not the whole truth; I can't tell that to anyone. But I least would have told her that I knew about vampires.

Still, it was fun to see her try to play detective. She's not one just like I'm not a vampire slayer, but since I'd managed to kill a vampire, I wasn't entirely discounting her efforts. I was smart enough not to leave information online, because I had no Mac around to counter the prodigious hacking skills of Willow Rosenberg.

Sheila, meanwhile, was determined to stay my friend. Over the last couple of weeks she'd changed even more. She was still a "bad girl," but now she was one determined to make something of herself.

And as near as I could tell she'd given up drinking entirely.

She wasn't Wallace. But then, thinking of her in those terms was unfair. She was Sheila, not some substitute for the friends I'd been forced to leave behind in the real world. And if Sheila Kelly wanted to be my friend, then I had a friend.

It was one of the lessons Meg had driven home to me that I'd finally, if reluctantly, accepted. Wallace and Mac, and sometimes Logan, if no one else. It had taken me a long time to accept that I had friends in my original timeline, and I wasn't going to make that mistake twice.

Logan was waiting for me outside after school, and son of a bitch if he wasn't driving a canary-yellow SUV, albeit a Geo Tracker this time. Last brand I would have expected him to drive, but then Logan had always tried not to live up to people's expectations of him.

"Hello little girl," he said. "Would you like a ride?"

"Not even if you promise me candy," I said.

"I guess I bought all those Mounds Bars for nothing, then," he said. Then, more seriously, he added, "Last chance to back out."

"I appreciate your trying to protect me, no matter how disturbingly out of character it is, but I want to know."

He sighed. "I'm not trying to protect you, Mars; I'm trying to protect me."

If things held true to form, Logan had been the one who supplied the drugs that day. Now to see whether he'd confess. "Protect yourself from what?'

"The wrath of Mars. I'm not looking forward to another penis-shaped bong in my locker."

"Then spill."

"It sounds to me," he said carefully, "That you were either drunk out of your mind, or under the influence of some drug." Stopping to take a deep breath, he said, "And I'm pretty sure you weren't drunk."

"And you know this because . . ."

"Because no one gets that drunk that fast without outside help -- and slamming back brewskies isn't your style, if I recall."

Ooh, Logan! So close. But if you want to draw this out, I'll let you. For the moment. "That's not a reason," I said. "That's a thought process. Not a bad one, admittedly. Apparently you've been practicing." He started to say something, but I interrupted. "You didn't say it like it was a thought process. You said it like you _knew_. So. How did you know? And don't lie to me."

"BecsIwsthonewhbrtthemthre," he mumbled.

I cupped my hand to my ear. "How's that again, sonny?"

Tightly, he said, "Because I was the one who brought them there."

And now it was time to _really _go through the motions. I knew what I was about to say wasn't true; but not to react this way would have been suspicious as hell. "Ah," I said acidly. "So my trip to the land of funny amnesia was bought and paid for by you. What, you thought it would be fun to kick me while I was down?"

"If I wanted to kick you while you were down, I'd want you to know all about it," he said. "I brought the GHB to the party so I could hook up with a girl who'd be interested in sharing the experience with me, not so I could humiliate you -- and sure as hell not so I could use it as a date rape drug."

"That last part, I believe you on," I said. "But given the contempt you've held me for the last year? Not so sure I'm buying the rest of it."

"You want proof?" he said. "Because I'm pretty sure my word alone isn't going to be enough for you."

"You're right."

"Then you can talk to the person I gave the drugs to."

"And that would be?"

"Cameron Walker." I remembered that -- right. Swim team guy. Tried to start something with Buffy until Buffy broke his nose to get him to stop. Someone who has difficulty taking no for an answer might have no problems at all using a drug on someone who did.

And, now that I remembered, he'd hit on me once or twice; of course, this was when "Veronica is a slut who'll sleep with anyone" was the story of the day. And, if memory served, he hadn't been too keen on my 'no," either.

"Any idea where he is?"

"This time of day? Probably off to the beach." Sunnydale wasn't directly on the ocean, like Neptune; but the Pacific Ocean wasn't _that _far away.

"Okay. I believe you for now."

"And I _was_ worried," he said.

"You should be. Penis-shaped bong? That's just a warm-up for what happens if I find out you're lying."

X X X X X

I called dad and told him I was on my way to the beach.

"Case, school assignment, or just want to drool over guys in swimsuits?"

"One . . . with a little bit of three."

"Nothing dangerous?"

"My contact thinks he has the Unabomber's hideout."

"Sweetie, the Unabomber was arrested last year."

"Then he's probably right."

"A chuckle from the other end. "True. But I hope you're not paying him too much. See you for dinner."

Fortunately for me, Cameron was by himself -- not surfing, like so many people in Neptune would have been doing, but swimming. Not having the apparel, inclination or ability to actually go out into the surf, I waited for him to come in.

"Nice form," I said.

"Are you referring to the way I swim or my body?" he said.

"The way you swim," I said firmly. "I have a question to ask you."

"Ask away." He thought he was being charming. Even if I didn't know the kind of creep he was, I would have known the kind of creep he was. If you catch my drift.

"Cordelia Chase's Christmas party."

"What about it?"

"You were there."

"Yes."

"You hit on me, and if I recall I told you not even if you were the last hope of propagating the species."

"Something like that." His smile seemed forced now.

"Then Logan gave you some GHB."

"Yes."

"See, here's the problem, Cameron," I said. "Someone slipped me some GHB. There's a gap in my memory lasting more or less a whole night. And you had motive, means, and opportunity."

"What are you accusing me of?"

"You're not that stupid, Cammy. You tell me."

"Well, I didn't. Yeah, I had the means, but no motive, and someone beat me to the opportunity."

""Tell me."

"Logan gave me his whole supply -- too much for me to use. So I gave some of it to other people. By the time I could have even thought of spiking your soda, you were already long out of it, dancing like a madwoman." He laughed. "Cordelia nearly had a conniption fit when she saw you, but by that point the damage had been done."

"So what'd they do with me?"

"Don't know. Last I saw you were being taken off to a back room to sleep it off."

It was like pulling teeth. Which was what I'd be doing if he didn't give me more than these dribs and drabs.

"By?" I said.

"The guys in the band. Devon MacLeish and . . ." he snapped his fingers. "What's that guitarist's name again?"

"Oz," I said.


	9. Devon, Oz, and a Trick

Disclaimer: _Veronica Mars_ is owned by Rob Thomas; _Buffy_ by Joss Whedon. I own the plot.

X X X X X

Well, if there was one thing I knew, it was that not only had Oz not been the one to rape me, it was that he would have done everything he could to stop anyone who tried. Still, he might be able to tell me something I needed to know, even if the only person in the Buffyverse less likely to commit rape than Oz was Tara.

I couldn't say the same about Devon MacLeish. Neither of my sets of recollections thought of him as someone capable of raping someone, but if I _appeared_ willing he might have been willing to ignore me possibly being drunk.

And certainly I'd appeared willing enough to Duncan. So it wasn't completely impossible that I could have seemed so to someone else. I like think even drugged out of my skull I'd have better taste than Devon, though.

I asked Cameron one final question: "Any idea where Oz or Devon are right now?"

He looked at me like I was stupid. Not a look I get very often. Like I was annoying, pesky, a pain in the ass, sure. But rarely stupid.

I'd earned the look, though. He said, "It's Tuesday."

And, of course, Dingoes Ate My Baby played at the Bronze any Tuesday it wasn't actually otherwise booked. "Thanks," I said. I resisted the temptation to throw in some crack about avoiding steam rooms. I doubted the entity who sent me here would have taken that as "telling someone about their futures," but it was close enough that I wasn't going to take the risk.

I hate being hamstrung like this. I hate "rules are rules." But when the Adversary with the power to wipe you from existence tells you to do or not do something, you do or don't do it.

To the letter. I'd already figured out one loophole: I might not be able to tell people about their futures, but I could do something about it. Sheila Kelly's continued breathing proved that.

The band wouldn't begin setting up for an hour or so, so there wasn't a point to simply hanging around the Bronze. Anyway, it was getting to be time for dinner.

So if I couldn't come up with a loophole, I'd ask the smartest man I knew:

My father.

X X X X X

As we ate our pork chops. Dad said, "Did you find anything useful at the beach?"

"A big treasure chest full of Spanish doubloons. But some mean boys took it away from me."

"Funny, sweetie. I meant, having to do with the case you're working on."

And now it was time to walk that extremely fine line between "letting Dad know more or less what's going on while withholding vital data" and "letting Dad know exactly what's going on," and letting him thing I was doing the latter when I was actually doing the former.

"A little bit," I said. "Mostly, I got pointed in the right direction."

"A lot of that in the detective business," Dad said. "As long as you're sure it's the right direction. So, what's this one about?"

"Well, since it turned out you were right about the Unabomber," I said. "I decided instead to try to track down what happened at a party."

"Your client wasn't there?"

"Was there; doesn't remember. And from the way everyone's acting around her, she's pretty sure something did," I put down my fork. "And now for something completely different."

"That is an ex-client?"

"Huh?"

He shook his head and said, with mock sadness, "You kids today have no sense of history. What is this different thing?"

"A story I'm working on for English class," I said. "Horror. A powerful demon has sent a man back in time ten years. He remembers everything that's going to happen, including a number of tragedies, and wants to stop them. But there's a twist: He can't tell anyone about their futures -- or anyone else's future, for that matter. Now, I've already figured out that say doesn't mean do. Can you think of any other escape clauses?"

"That's one odd story."

"We weren't really given any restrictions."

"Hmmm. Is he in a situation where telling people about their pasts could do any good?"

My father is a genius. Scratch that: My father is a god. No, scratch that again. My father is THE God. I'm not quite too sure about the theological ramifications as far as I'm concerned, but never mind that. I'd been bashing my brains against this restriction for weeks and hadn't come up with this -- this blatantly obvious solution. "Perfect," I said. "Yes. The past would work beautifully."

Jane Calderash becoming Jenny Calendar was in the past.

"Ripper" was in the past.

Buffy's happy fun time at Hemery High was in the past. So was her stay in a mental institution.

Angel's curse was in the past. Hell, Angel's entire _history_ was in the past.

I kissed Dad on the forehead and started to clear off the table. When he got up to help, I said, "You. Sit. You've earned it."

"Many times over, I'm sure," he said. "I'm just not certain what about this entitles me to such swanky treatment."

"Swanky? Mister, you ain't begun to see swanky." I gave him another ten minutes of the royal treatment, went in to check my makeup and clothes -- no, I am not Cordelia Chase, nor was meant to be, but I do like to be sure I don't look like the fourth day of a three-day drunk -- and left.

Dad's information would be a big help in the future.

Say, around Halloween.

In the meantime, there were Devon and Oz.

X X X X X

I talked my way past the bouncer by saying, "I'm here to help the band set up."

Not one of my better lies, but I honestly think I could have said anything, up to and including, "Hi! I'm here to murder everyone in the place with an AK-47!" and he would have let me in. One thing I had to remember: Sunnydale security was made up of the people who couldn't get into the Sunnydale police department.

I heard Devon's dulcet tones as soon as I walked in -- sound check, apparently. He did have a nice voice. I forget the band that provided Dingoes' voices -- yeah, I know, and I call myself a _Buffy_ fan. What can I say? I'm all about what happens on the screen, not so much about what happens off it. I hung back and waited until they were done the song. "Okay, man," Devon said. "Now we can plug in." Then he saw me. "And it looks like some of our fans are already here." He smiled what I'm sure he thought he was an irresistible smile. "Show hasn't quite started yet."

"Oh, darn," I said. "Does that mean you don't sign body parts?"

Oz recognized the sarcasm when he heard it. Devon wouldn't have recognized sarcasm if it had slapped him in the face. "What body part did you have in mind?"

"My sacroiliac," I said.

"Huh?"

I shrugged. "Sorry. Had your chance. Look. I need to ask the two of you some questions about Cordelia Chase's Christmas party."

Oz looked at everyone else in the band. "Take five," he said. He came over to me; Devon followed. We sat down at one of the tables. "What do you need to know?"

"What happened to me."

Devon broke out into a big grin. "You were really wild that night, manhunter. But then, you know that --"

Oz interrupted. "If she knew, she wouldn't be asking."

"Cam Walker said that when I collapsed the two of you carried me off to a downstairs bedroom before Cordelia could throw me out."

"Right," Oz said. "She'd've thrown you out. Couldn't have you going around like that. You could've been hurt or killed."

"What did you do?"

"I took your shoulders, Oz took your legs; we found what looked like a guest room and laid you out on the bed," Devon said. "You were saying things I couldn't understand." Devon, of course, didn't understand simple arithmetic. "Oz?"

"Assorted words. Nothing too embarrassing or revealing. 'Duncan' once or twice. But then, he's your ex, right?"

"Right," I said.

"You know what your problem was, manhunter?" Devon asked.

"Enlighten me, wise one," I said.

"Your problem was that you didn't pace yourself. I mean, I'm not against getting a buzz on myself, but if you're not experienced --"

"I didn't touch a single drop of alcohol," I said. "Someone dosed me. That's why I'm trying to figure out what happened."

"Oh," Devon said. "Sorry." The difference between Devon and Dick Casablancas is that Devon actually sounded like he meant it. He might have been a "rock god" and a lover of the ladies, and dumber than a truckload of dirt, but he wasn't actually a malicious person.

Of course, I'd thought Beaver Casablancas was a nice guy too, once.

"Did you see me do anything else?"

"Yeah," Oz said. "You were fine the first time I saw you -- even though no one was talking. Then, half an hour later, you were acting disturbed."

"Do you remember when that was?" A time frame would be useful.

"9:30 to 10, I think." I got to the party a little before 9. GHB starts to work pretty quickly in the bloodstream -- so that meant whoever dosed me did it between 9:30 and 10. As in the regular universe, I dimly remembered someone handing me a soda. Unfortunately, Madison Sinclair wasn't around to be conveniently blamed, so I'd have to figure out who else had done it.

"Thanks," I said. "Anything else? Anyone . . . come near the bedroom you dumped me off in?"

Devon said, "We had to get back and play another set. I didn't see anything."

"One guy," Oz said. "Didn't see him go in. Just saw him hanging around the doorway."

"And who was he?"

"Don't know his last name. His first name, though, was Warren."


	10. Conversations with Dumb People

Disclaimer: The _Veronica Mars_ universe was created by Rob Thomas; the _Buffy_ universe by Joss Whedon; and this merging by me.

X X X X X

Warren?

Sociopathic, robot-building, Tara-murdering Warren?

Yeah. I could believe it.

But should he even _be_ in Sunnydale right now? I vaguely remembered Willow saying something like "Warren was only in Sunnydale High for about a semester."

Of course, that didn't mean he'd been in _Sunnydale_ for about a semester. And quite obviously, he'd been there at least back to the middle of sophomore year.

Next, there was the obvious question of, what in the hell was someone like Warren Mears doing at a party hosted by Cordelia Chase? Or anywhere within a half mile? I wouldn't have put it past Cordelia to have armed guards roaming the area, turning away the poorly-dressed and less-deserving.

Even Oz wouldn't have made the list if he hadn't been with the band. Devon, sure; he wasn't a rich jock, but he was good-looking enough to earn him an exemption. (Yes, I noticed. Fortunately, that internal list of 'qualities I'm attracted to' -- while broad enough to include Deputy Leo, Duncan, and Logan -- definitely had "smarter than a tree stump" on it somewhere.)

Damn. Warren. He definitely shot up to the top of my list -- definitely among those who were at the party, and probably at the top of the list in all of Sunnydale, at least as long as you counted the human denizens. Number one with a bullet I hoped he never got to fire.

(Even Aaron Echolls, loathsome jailbait-lover that he was, never quite went _that_ far, to my knowledge. Still, he probably would have been second. And yes, I'm counting in Mayor Wilkins.)

There was no question in my mind that he was capable of doing it. He'd raped Katrina mentally with that gem before he raped her physically. It was well within his character to take advantage of an unconscious woman.

Further: it was within his character to have rendered her, by which I mean me, unconscious.

In the meantime, I asked Oz and Devon, "Do you have any idea why he was there?"

Oz said, "No. Surprised me, actually."

Devon said, "Cordelia was giving him dirty looks all evening, but she didn't have him thrown out."

Hmmm. How does someone who's not good-looking, a jock, or a part of the Sunnydale elite, or performing a valuable service, rate an invite to a shindig like Cordelia Chase's Christmas party?

Something I'd have to ask him. Or possibly beat out of him.

"Got some more chords to practice," Oz said. "Any other questions?"

"Yup. There was some GBH floating around that party," I said. "Some of it ended up in me. Either of you have any idea how it got there?" I knew Oz hadn't done it, and didn't _think_ Devon had. Still.

"No. I'd have told you if I'd seen anything," Oz said.

Devon hesitated a second. "Spill, MacLeish," I said.

"I got offered it," he said. "I don't need it. The day Devon MacLeish needs anything artificial to get a girl is the day he becomes a priest."

"I know Logan Echolls brought it to the party and gave it to Cameron Walker," I said.

He shook his head. "No. It wasn't either of them. The guy who offered it to me was Percy West."

Well, well, well. For a something that had been intended to be high-class, Cordelia Chase's party was just swarming with lowlifes. I thanked Oz and Devon and let them get back to their practice.

So. Three possible leads, besides Duncan. Warren, Percy, Cordelia --

No, wait. Whither Cordelia, there go the Cordettes.

The Bronze was due to open in about half an hour or so.

Let's see who showed up tonight.

X X X X X

Apparently _Reptile Boy _was still somewhere in the future, because Buffy, Willow and Xander were there within an hour or so. I walked by and said hello to them. Buffy was friendly and invited me to sit down, Willow was pleasant enough -- maybe me having rescued her had soured her on whatever had soured her on me -- but Xander still looked at me as though I were some kind of demon ooze he had to wade through.

I was beginning to think it was more than contempt for my former way of life that had brought him to this. Xander Harris, from everything I remembered, was a fairly easy-going guy, except when you hurt one of his friends.

And for the life of me I couldn't remember hurting one of his friends.

Anyway. That was something for later. For the moment, while waiting for one of my targets to show up -- Warren would have to wait.

I chatted with them for a few minutes, but I didn't sit down. "Working on a case," I said.

"Nice case," Buffy said, "That lets you just hang around the Bronze."

I get what she meant; but since my "fall from grace" I haven't been a social butterfly. More like a social chrysalis, despite people's occasional efforts to drag me out of the cocoon. The Bronze was fun as far as it went, and I wasn't a stranger to the place, but it's never been tops of on my list of "Things to Do in Sunnydale When You're Not Undead."

"It's a living," I said.

Then one of my potential targets walked in: Not Cordelia, not Percy, and not Warren -- but good enough. At least, I remembered this person being at the party.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, "I have to go talk to Harmony."

"You have to talk to Harmony?" Willow said. I nodded. "Then maybe this isn't, you know, such a nice case after all."

"True, that," I said, excused myself, and beelined towards Harmony as she broke away from the other Cordettes and headed to the bar.

I tapped on her shoulder to get her attention. "Oh? What do _you_ want?" The implication being that someone like me should know better than to talk to someone as wonderful as herself.

"World peace, a million dollars, and the answers to a couple of questions."

"How nice for you," she said, turning to leave.

I put my arm in the way. "However, I will settle for the answers to the questions."

"And why should I answer them?"

"Everyone has some secrets, Harmony. You talk to me and I'll keep yours."

This was what poker players call a semi-bluff. I actually didn't have any dirt on Harmony right now, but I was sure I could find some. Or manufacture some, if that's what it took.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and said, "Over here in the corner. It's not like I want to be seen talking to you." When we got to the corner, she said, "You have five minutes."

"Cordelia's Christmas party. I was there. I don't remember most of it."

"Yeah! As wasted as you were. I'm surprised Cordelia even let you in, but she said something about it being a breach of etiquette to take back an invitation." She rolled her eyes as though she thought this were one of the stupidest things in the world.

This was one person I might not rescue. If I remembered correctly, Harmony made a nicer vampire than she did a human being. The perky demon from late _Angel_ bore little resemblance to the ditzy bitch she was now. For one thing, the vampire had more of a soul.

"So," I said, "What was I doing?"

"Dancing around like a lunatic and singing at the top of your lungs and hanging off like every guy in the room," she said.

"Even Warren Mears?"

She snorted. "No. Even drunk even _you_ had better taste than that. But really, Veronica. You should have had the common decency not to show up at all if all you were going to do is trash the place."

"Pretend I don't remember."

She rolled her eyes again. "Some of the swim team; Larry from the football team; and Duncan, of course. What did he ever see in you?" Well, Larry, at least, wasn't a suspect. 

Harmony, I recalled, had long had a thing for Duncan. And might have had no problem embarrassing me in front of him and everybody. "A brain. You might want to think about getting one at some point."

"Is that it?"

"No, actually," I said pleasantly, "it isn't. You see, I wasn't drunk at that party and I hadn't stuck myself with the latest designer drug. Somebody took care of that for me. And honestly? Looking a whole lot like that someone might be you."

"The whole world doesn't revolve around you, Veronica Mars."

"Kind of figured that out when Lilly died and everyone suddenly started treating me like I was carrying the plague."

"The what?"

I refrained from rolling my eyes. "Answer the question, Harmony. Did you dose me?"

She said, "No. God! Don't you think if I had I'd've been bragging about it all over school?"

A good point, that. Harmony didn't go for subtle. I doubt she even knew how to spell the word. "Okay. I'll take you at your word. Now you might want to get going before the rest of your friends wonder why you're over in the corner talking to the biggest loser in school."

"Second biggest," she said. "Buffy's got you beat."

"Damn. I'm going to have to try to retake my crown."

She left.

A half an hour later, which was split between nursing a soda and being amused by Harmony's increasingly frantic attempts to explain to the Cordettes what she was doing with me in that corner, I decided to call it a night. Cordelia herself was a no-show. Percy West didn't show up either, and neither did Larry.

Okay. My work here was done. I'd catch Percy, Cordelia or Larry tomorrow at school. Warren, I'd need to track down.

Every instinct in me was saying that if I'd been raped, he was the one to do it.

Instinct was an important tool for a detective. It was not the only tool.

Knowing that someone is capable of rape and murder doesn't mean they're guilty of every rape that happens. Aaron Echolls had killed Lilly. but he wasn't guilty of every death in Sunnydale.

Much as I wanted to find Warren and scream at him about what he'd done, I didn't have proof.

So I'd need to find some.

On my way out, I found my arm grabbed. Shit. Had I just walked myself into a new career as a vampire?

No. It was Sheila. "Sorry, manhunter. Didn't realize you'd be so jumpy. Where you going? The night's just getting started."

"Here on a case," I said. "And now I'm done."

"Good. So you're off. Time to have some fun."

"Fun? Not really my thing."

"C'mon. There's got to be _something_ in there you want to do. Or someone."

What the hell. I could take another half hour.

And as Sheila and I threw darts -- me imagining, alternately, the faces of Aaron Echolls and Warren Mears on the dartboard -- I realized: the Bronze? Not as bad as I thought.


	11. Some Dissembling Required

Author's Note: And now I'll be concentrating on this for a while. Interim chapter in the investigation, but we're headed somewhere big soon.

Disclaimer: _Veronica Mars _was created by Rob Thomas; _Buffy_ by Joss Whedon. This merging is mine.

X X X X X

Okay. New day. New plan. Playtime, as they say, is over.

Last night, Sheila, knowing I was on a case, asked if there was anything if she could do to help me.

"Other than keeping an eye out to see if anyone seems more interested in what I'm doing than they should be, no," I said. "This isn't an investigation I'm getting paid for. This is personal."

Mistake. I knew it the second it left my mouth. Unfortunately, lacking any convenient method of time travel, I was pretty much stuck with it. The next thing Sheila said was, "Someone hurt you? Let me know who. I'll hurt 'em right back for you."

"If I knew who, I wouldn't be looking," I semi-lied. Duncan, I knew about; Warren I strongly suspected. But, like I'd determined last night, I wasn't going to make the mistake of focusing on him to the exclusion of everyone else. That way lay frame-up. And since I realize I'm perfectly capable of letting my emotions get me to concentrate on my pet theory to the exclusion of everything else -- Mr. Rooks, anyone? -- I'm forcing myself to be extra careful.

"Well," Sheila said, "If you find out and you decide you want 'em beaten up, give me a call. Right now I got all these violent tendencies and nothing to do with them."

I winced. "Could you maybe call it 'nervous energy' and not 'violent tendencies?' Less change for trolls to overhear you and decide that you are 'contributing to the disciplinary problem in this school.' You might want to avoid people wanting to send you to institutions and pump you full of drugs."

"Why? Gotta do something now that I've sworn off booze."

"Well, for one thing, no privacy rules in places like that. Vamps can just walk in and munch on anyone. Not so much a problem most places, but here?"

Sheila sighed. "You ruin all my fun, manhunter."

"I live to serve."

"Well, remember what I said. You want someone beaten up, let me know okay?"

"Will do." That kind of loyalty is frightening. It might be helpful, but it's scary.

Also sweet, in a sick sort of way.

Anyway, on with the plan. I was figuring on tracking down three of my targets during school today. The fourth, of course, was Warren, whom I was reasonably sure didn't go here yet. That would kind of be the climax of the day.

Whether he was guilty or not. I'd at least like to know how the hell he managed to get himself invited to the party.

And there was one of my targets, just shutting his locker: Percy West. Even though this year he was the sixth man on the team, he still had the arrogance and swagger you see in some high school jocks.

Let me stress that some. Wallace Fennell had been perfectly capable of basking in the glow of deserved adulation while avoiding becoming an arrogant ass.

Percy wasn't rich, but he acted as entitled as any '09er, and was as big a jerk to me after my downfall as anyone -- anyone not named Logan Echolls, of course, though in his case he actually had a reason.

Still made me think that Xander had to have a reason beyond thinking I was a Veronica-come-lately to the world of hating Sunnydale's rich and famous. That he and Willow thought I was a hypocrite because I hadn't realized it until I was a victim came from him.

That was later. The jackass at four o'clock was now, and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I stepped in front of him as the locker closed and, pasting a big old fake smile on my face, said, "Percy. Hi. How you doing?"

He looked at me like he was amazed I was daring to talk to him. He should know better; Veronica Mars dares to talk to almost anyone. (I might draw the line at Osama Bin Laden.) In any event, I didn't take it personally; Percy looked that way at pretty much everyone except for other athletes, authority figures, and women he thought he had a shot at sleeping with, (So far, to the best of my knowledge, none of them had.)

"Manhunter," he sneered. "What do you want?"

"To ask you a couple of questions about Cordelia Chase's Christmas party," I said.

His response was short and unhelpful. "No." He started to step around me.

"And if I said I knew that girls had been dosed by GBH at that party and that you'd been seen handling it?"

"I'd say no one's going to believe Veronica Mars."

"See, that's where you're wrong," I said. "'cause I'm thinking hatred of people trying to date rape them? Stronger than hatred of me. Look. I know you had it. You know you had it. Let's skip past the parts where you deny it and I have to threaten you again, and move on to the part where you agree to answer my questions just to shut me up. It'll be faster for everyone."

"Okay. Yeah. I had it."

"So who'd you use it on?"

Percy said, "I put a little bit in one drink. Not enough to make someone unconscious. That's no fun for anyone and I don't go for unwilling."

"But you're fine with helping it along with a little GHB," I said.

"There's a difference between giving someone drinks and hitting them over the head, manhunter," he said as though I were stupid. "But when the girl didn't start acting like I'd given her anything, I figured I'd gotten a bad batch and tried to pawn it off on those musicians."

"Tried?"

"They didn't want it. So I gave some to that dorky kid." He laughed. "If anyone needs GHB to even have a shot at a girl, it'd be him."

"Was his name Warren?"

"How the hell would I know?" After a pause, "Look, are we done?"

"Yes. No. One more thing. Whose drink were you trying to spike?"

"Cordelia Chase's."

X X X X X

After that, I let Percy go.

First off, holy crap. I knew the guy was a jackass but I didn't realize, even from the show, that he was that big an SOB. I'd be keeping an eye on him. Anyone with that shady a definition of what was willing and what wasn't was a prime candidate to go over the line.

And that's assuming he wasn't lying now. He was definitely on my suspect list. Maybe not as high as Warren, but he was a possibility.

Second, Cordelia? He wasn't in her league by any definition. Maybe, vaguely, by the end of senior year he'd be what Cordelia would want right now, when she was still aiming, at least to some extent, at social status; but he wasn't remotely in her league as a human being, and that was the current, I'm a bitch but I'll put up with you bozos because I'm helping save the world Cordelia, never mind the self-sacrificing heroine of later Angel. (And don't tell me that Cordelia died at the end of season 4. One of the tenets of my Buffyverse fandom is that Cordelia Chase can never die.)

And, if I had my way, she damn well wouldn't this time around either. (You might be thinking: Veronica Mars a Cordelia Chase fan? With all the '09ers I had to deal with? Yup. I loved the way she always told the truth. Not something I get a lot of in this business.)

Before I tracked down Cordelia, though, I ran into Larry. "So, Larry," I said. "Got a minute?"

"For a pretty girl like you, I got all day," he said. "Whaddaya need? Want to sample some of Larry now that you've sampled half the rest of the football team?"

"Oh, Larry," I said, "You should know better than to believe rumors. Otherwise I might have to believe that one about you never actually carrying through with a woman, ever. Might even lead certain people to suspect certain things about you." He wasn't ready to reveal his homosexuality yet.

"Such as?"

"Oh, I don't know. Who know why a young man might not be able to follow through?" I said pleasantly, "Anyway, that's really got nothing to with why I want to talk to you. I want to talk to you about anything out of the ordinary you might have seen at Cordelia's Christmas party."

"You mean besides you getting wasted and dancing around as though you were at a strip club?"

"I already knew that," I said. "Point of fact, I'm trying to figure out why. That wasn't drunk, that was drugged." No, I really didn't think Larry had had anything to do with it. Underneath the posturing macho swagger was a decent guy struggling to come out. Still, I had to cover all the bases here.

"You're kidding."

"This face?" I said. "My no, I'm not kidding face."

"Damn. Who the hell did that?"

I blew out a breath. "If I knew --"

Larry was ahead of me. "You wouldn't be asking me. Okay. Logan Echolls offered me some, but I turned him down. I don't touch that stuff and I don't like people who do."

"Really? The way you act?" Testing.

"I don't need it," he said. "No matter what you've heard." Like I thought. He still wasn't ready to admit it. Possibly not even to himself.

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Yeah. I saw your ex staggering out of the bedroom late in the party."

"Duncan?" I had to feign surprise.

"Duncan. He seemed kind of out it himself. I made sure he got home."

You couldn't have opened the door, could you, Larry? Your overcompensating machismo couldn't have gotten you to check me out while I was unconscious?

Ah well. I knew about Duncan, now, officially. I'd confront him about it after school.

"Thanks," I said.

"Look. You're not going to spread it around, you know? That I'm not able to follow through?"

"That's between you and your therapist," I said. He turned around and left.

Okay. Progress. This was good. Still wasn't any closer to figuring out what Warren was doing there, or whether he might have raped me.

I had the Duncan part nailed, though. That meant I could get that out of the way after school.

I wonder if I'd still have to do the DNA testing. I wondered how expensive it would be to prove to everyone involved that I wasn't Duncan's sister, so that he could get on with his life.

I guess I'd figure that out soon enough.

In the meantime, I still had two major figures left to talk to: Cordelia, and Warren.

Talking to Cordelia wouldn't be fun.

But at least she wouldn't be trying to cover up anything.

(I should really remember to stop tempting the fates like that.)


	12. The CocaCola Factor

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Sinus infection has had me feeling very drained. We are, here, building up to a climax, but we're not there yet.

I also know some things that are going to happen in this story -- but parts of it are being constructed on the fly. Xander does have a specific reason for disliking Veronica. Angel will make an appearance after the rape investigation is over. Etc.

Disclaimer: _Veronica Mars _belongs to Rob Thomas, _Buffy _to Joss Whedon. This merger is mine.

X X X X X

I saw Cordelia at lunch, but knew better than to approach her then for anything short of "The school's on fire" or "your pantyhose has a run."

On second thought, scratch "the school's on fire." Cordelia does have her priorities, after all.

So I sat with Sheila and we chatted about the things we hated about Sunnydale High (pretty much everything) until Logan walked up, to my great surprise. "I thought you might want to know something, Mars."

"I might want to know a lot of things, Logan," I said. "Why don't you tell me and I'll figure out if this is one of them?"

"My father wants to invite you over for dinner."

There are very few things in the world guaranteed to render me speechless. "Aaron Echolls wants you to come to dinner" is one of them. "Why?" I asked.

"Not just you. Both of you. For what you did in the school back when 'the gang' attacked." Yes, I could hear the quotes.

"What? You mean hiding in the corner while he heroically rescued us?" I said. At least, that was the way he'd told it to the public.

"I know better, you know better, Kelly knows better," Logan said. "Honestly, that's all that important. If Daddy Dearest hadn't tried to hog all of the glory for himself, I think you and I would have keeled over in twin heart attacks." Then he looked at Sheila. "Not so sure about yon Kelly, though. If I recall, she thinks my dad is," air quotes, "Hot as hell."

"Still do," Sheila said. "Now I think he's an asshole as well. Like father, like son."

Logan stiffened at that. I realized what a nasty insult that was. "Oh, come on, Sheila," I said. "Logan's not _quite_ as bad as his father."

Frowning, Logan looked at me as though he couldn't decide whether that had been an insult or compliment. I figured, at this stage of our relationship, I wouldn't be enlightening him, so I didn't. Eventually he said, "Understatement of the year there, Mars. Anyway, he's planning to invite you guys over this weekend. I'm giving you fair warning so you can come up with a previous engagement. Or possibly just get wasted."

"Woulda been true a couple weeks ago, Echolls," Sheila said. "Not true any more thanks to the manhunter here. You know why."

"Yeah. I've been following your rules about that. People are wondering why I've suddenly found religion."

"Let 'em wonder," I said.

"Always my motto," Logan said. "Anyway. You've got your warning, What you do with it is entirely up to you." He mock-saluted and left.

"I'm feeling a pressing need to be out of town this Saturday," I said. "Care to join me?"

"Road trip? 'scool. Where?"

"In the words of Buffy Summers, anywhere but here."

X X X X X

In the meantime, there was Cordelia Chase.

I caught her after school.

She was dragging Buffy to a car to talk to a couple of college guys.

That's right; we had now entered the land of Reptile Boy.

Another episode I wasn't planning on getting involved in. But it did mean Cordelia was going to be kind of out of circulation for a couple of days, so if I wanted to catch her, I'd have to catch her now.

Or at least, I'd have to wait until she was done with the boys from the frat house.

Unfortunately, Xander noticed me noticing. Fixing me with a glare, he said, "What are you looking at?"

"I have to talk to Cordelia about something," I said. "Not that it's really any of your business."

He nodded as though it was all making sense now. "Ah. You and Cordelia together."

"I know, I know," I said. "Throw in some stomach flu and it's your best day ever."

He stiffened. "Don't tell me what I'm thinking, manhunter. You of all people have no right to." He turned around and left.

Keeping one eye on Cordelia, I asked Willow, "What was that about?"

Nervously, Willow said, "You'd have to ask him."

"I think if I tried he'd throw something at me," I said. "Look. Until now I was willing to dismiss this as just him not liking me because I used to be one of the in crowd. I never thought I was badly behaved towards the out crowd, but I'm willing to stipulate to mild guilt there. But I have no idea what I did to have him hate me the way he does."

Willow said, "Well, you're not going to find out by doing an end run through me."

I suspected I was facing a trial version of the resolve face. I'm not so sure I could stand up to the later incarnations, but right now, I'd faced worse. "I'm not trying to do an end run, Willow. I'm honestly trying to find out. Because I have no clue, and I'd like to think that if I ticked someone off that badly, I'd know why. But I don't. He's not going to tell me because he can barely stand to be in the same room as me, and you're not going to tell me because you think it'd be betraying him. Fine. I can live with it. If I knew what I did, I could apologize for it, or explain why it's not really my fault, or something. But it's not worth the effort."

Willow said, "He blames you for something."

"What?"

"You're the detective. You can figure it out from there."

I was going to have to; Giles had called to Buffy from behind me. Willow handed her her bag as she sprinted past. I had a vague recollection of this going differently in the regular Buffyverse, but I couldn't remember how.

As Buffy left, the frathouse guys said goodbye to Cordelia and drove off. She started walking towards the parking lot; I raced after her.

She whirled when I was within a few feet. "Please! It's bad enough I might have to have Buffy dogging my heels but there's no way you're coming. Not with your track record at parties."

Every once in a while the gods hand you perfect openings. You refrain from taking advantage of them at your peril. "My track record?" I said innocently. Of course, there was no way I was going to the party, and that wasn't even taking into account the giant snake.

Sad that a giant snake possibly eating me _isn't_ the main reason I wouldn't go to a party. Sad, but, alas, true.

"My track record?" I said innocently.

"You should know, the way you trashed my Christmas party. I knew I should have retracted my invitation. Damn Miss Manners."

"I don't know if it makes any difference to you," I said, "But I don't remember most of it."

"As drunk as you were --"

"Cordelia, we may never have been friends, but you know me well enough to know I don't act like that." I figured I'd try leveling with her. "I wasn't drunk. Someone drugged me. And I'm trying to figure out who."

"Drugged?" she said.

"Drugged. As in, someone took some GHB and dosed my drink with it. And that's why I have about ten hours of my life I'm never going to get back, from about a half an hour in to when I woke up in your back bedroom."

"You spent the night in my house?"

"Focus, Cordelia," I said. "Yes, I did. Now, I'm trying to figure out two things. One, who drugged me? And two, did I do anything besides make a fool of myself? And more importantly, did anyone do something to me?" I knew about Duncan by this point, of course. And I had my suspicions about Warren. But I didn't know what Cordelia knew.

Cordelia laughed, but it wasn't a laugh that meant she thought something was funny. "It may have been my party, Veronica, but I'm probably the last person you want to talk to about what you did to ruin it."

"Still pissed?"

"Oh yeah. But if someone really did drug you --" she narrowed her eyes suspiciously as though she thought I might be lying about that.

Well, I'd done worse. "I'm not saying I always tell the truth like you do," I said. "But I usually don't waste my time on revenge. And anyway, you're the one of the few people who treated me the same before and after my downfall. You didn't like me when I was Lilly's friend, you didn't like me after she was murdered, and you never hid it. In an odd way it gave me a kind of continuity when everyone else around me was turning on me."

"That's who I am," Cordelia said.

"I know. And I appreciate it." After a second, "How did Warren Mears get in?"

Cordelia snorted. "Yeah, I guess he's even below you, isn't he? Trust me, most nights Warren or anyone like him wouldn't have gotten past the front door without large sums of cash and proof that all of his shots were up to date. But he did the football team a favor."

"What?"

Shrugging, she said, "How the hell should I know? Probably did all their math homework or something. Anyway, if you want someone to tell you what or who you did that night I'm the wrong gal to talk to. I only saw you for a few minutes-- I think they were trying to keep me from noticing the way you were acting. 'cause I would have thrown you out on your ass, you know."

"I know," I said. "What did you see?"

"Nothing, really. It's not like we would have had any long conversations or anything anyway. I gave you a soda, you said thanks, and that was it."

"You gave me a soda?"

"Yeah."

It had to be. "Did Percy West give you the soda?"

"Yeah. Like I would have drunk it! I mean, hello! Not diet!"

"You didn't spit in it first or anything, did you?"

"Eww!" she said. "No! You really are a freak."

"And proud of it," I said. "Anyway. Thanks. You've helped." I'd long held a grudge against Madison Sinclair for doing this in my universe. But she'd given me the "trip to the dentist" first, even if she hadn't known there was GHB in the drink.

Cordelia hadn't been malicious.

So I wouldn't be holding any grudges against her.

"Whatever. And you still can't come to the party."

"After my experience at your Christmas party, trust me, that's not the punishment you think it is." She nodded once and left.

Okay. _Reptile Boy_ in progress. I had a pro forma confrontation with Duncan to deal with, and a possibly major one with Warren.

What the hell. Duncan first.

I'm on a TV show, after all. I might as well work my way up to the climax.


	13. Different Time, Different Place

Author's Note: Mostly _Veronica Mars _plot points this time.

And: Grrrr! The good shows get cancelled. Crap like _Family Guy_ gets resurrected. Proof positive of the nonexistence of a benign God, if you ask me.

Disclaimer: The great _Veronica Mars_ was created by Rob Thomas. The equally great _Buffy_ was created by Joss Whedon.

X X X X X

But before I went to the Kane residence (assuming I could talk my way inside -- i.e., whether or not Celeste Kane was home), I was going to find out where Warren Mears lived.

(I remembered his house from the I Was Made to Love You episode, but not the street he lived on. Or the house number, for that matter.) Besides, I owed Dad an hour or two of phone answering and general office work.

We didn't have nearly the same kind of sophisticated software we had in Neptune, but then, that was 1997, not 2005. It certainly had enough to let me look up his address, and maybe a bit more.

Dad was talking to a client when I got there. One of the wealthier Sunnydale denizens -- I missed the simplicity of "'09er" -- wanted Dad to track his son and make sure he was staying clean -- no drugs, no booze. Not exciting on the face of it, and it probably wouldn't be exciting once everything was played out, but the deromanticization of the private eye has swung a bit too far past realistic. Sure, most cases are routine, but there was almost always the possibility of something wacky and unplanned going down. Maybe the son would recognize he was being followed and A, run, B, try to beat Dad up, C, pay someone else to beat him up, or D, something unpredictable. Which around here could mean turning into a werewolf or demon of some sort, so I was kind of hoping for not _too _exciting.

A little filing, an answered call (telemarketer), and then it was time to get back to my own case. I found Warren's address quickly enough.

I also found out that he was going to a private school -- one for gifted children about forty miles or so away, in Santa Carolita. Which answered the question of how he could live in Sunnydale but still only attend Sunnydale high for one semester. A later semester, probably. No doubt his charming personality would eventually get him kicked out. Not vital to tracking him down and, metaphorically, beating the answers out of him, but still, good to know.

Dad was going to get to work that night; I ordered some pizza so we could have a little quality daddy-daughter time before he went out. He hadn't gotten any calls from Aaron Echolls yet. Thank goodness.

Of course, there was always the possibility that an elaborate invitation awaited at my home mailbox. But I doubted it. That would have been evidence -- of his lying nature, if nothing else. And Aaron Echolls was too publicity-conscious to leave anything like that lying around.

I did bring something up that I thought wouldn't get me in too much trouble with the entity that put me here. I said, "I've been thinking about Abel Koontz." Abel Koontz was another person who'd made the jump from our world to this one. Nothing about Lilly's murder seemed to have changed. This was good in that it meant I knew who'd done it, but bad in that I couldn't jump ahead and just say that.

Still, maybe I could jump thought it. The rules were that I couldn't bring up any future knowledge. That didn't necessarily mean I couldn't suggest a line of thinking. (And we'd already come up with the fact that the shoes found at the "murderer's" residence were ones that had been in her room immediately after she died.)

"Veronica," he said disapprovingly, "You're not investigating this behind my back, are you?" Well, not at the moment, so, "No." It would actually be pretty hard for me to do. Think about it. With the rape, there were different circumstances, different people, and possibly a different second rapist. With Lilly's death?

Everything was the same. The pink shoes. The firing of my father for daring to suggest that the Kane family might have done it. (Though, honestly, Mayor Dick Wilkins? Probably isn't too interested in having an actual competent sheriff around to investigate the 'suspicious deaths' around the town. He likely was going to have to find some reason to get rid of Dad anyway, and this was just a good excuse.)

I did wonder if the Mayor would play a similar role in my senior year that "Mayor" Woody Goodman had in mine. I doubted one part of it would be the same; Mayor Wilkins was as ethically bankrupt as they come, but I doubted he was harboring any pedophilic tendencies.

I never accepted that as an excuse for Cassidy Casablancas having become the bastard he'd become, by the way. It was an explanation; it let me see him as, on some level, something of a victim. But he'd made the choices himself. I came so close to shooting the bastard that night on the roof of the Neptune Grand --

Okay. Focus, Veronica. New universe, new game, new players. Warren Mears was no Cassidy Casablancas. And I couldn't help in this investigation too much because there would be too much temptation for me to force the investigation off the rails with my knowledge of whodunit.

Trust me, I only look sanguine about what's going on. But more than a little part of me was tempted to go to that dinner with Aaron Echolls with a plus one: Dad's gun.

Getting back to the conversation: "Good," Dad said. "So, what's your thinking?"

"_Cui bono_?"

He blinked. "I'm not sure I get what you mean."

"Yeah. A little elliptical of me. Sorry. Going by the assumption that Abel Koontz didn't actually kill Lilly. Why would he confess to it?"

"He's crazy?"

"Not with the evidence. Not with Lilly's shoes making their mysterious jump from her bedroom to Koontz's apartment. Let's try again."

"Well, it can't be because he's being paid."

"True. Dead men spend no loot." 

I didn't need to say anything else; I'd gotten the chain of logic started. "But maybe," he said with a grin on his face, "Just maybe, someone else will benefit. Good idea, Veronica."

I smiled. "I try."

"You often succeed."

"Often?" I did my best to sound indignant.

"Don't push it, sweetie."

X X X X X

And now it was time for a completely necessary emotional confrontation. This wouldn't be a lot of fun to live through -- it hadn't been fun the first time -- but it had to be done.

I'd made an excuse to Duncan that I'd left my English notes for the day in my locker. (A lie, of course. I hadn't made any notes. I didn't need to; we'd moved on from romantic poetry and were now reading _Pride and Prejudice. _Not my favorite work, even with the cynicism, but I'd read and absorbed it pretty damn thoroughly. Certainly enough that all I needed to do was skim it this time around.

I might want to tone that down a bit. Going through high school for the second time in three years, and knowing 90 of the material cold before the teachers opened their mouths, was leading me to become a bit conspicuous, because I didn't take notes, I used study hall for personal reading and catching up on my cases, and yet I was still in the top 5 in every class.

Which, in fact, had been Duncan's objection. "I didn't see you taking any notes today," he'd said.

"So you watched me for the entire class? How stalker-like. Am I going to need to call Don Lamb and swear out a restraining order?"

I could hear a faint smile at the other end of the phone. Rare but welcome. Duncan hadn't been smiling much recently. To be fair, it wasn't like he'd had a lot to smile about. "Somehow I don't think he'd listen." Of course, I was about to go over and start a conversation guaranteed to make him stop smiling for weeks.

"True. So, can I get the notes?"

And that's why I was here. Thank the gods, Jake and Celeste were away -- a fundraising dinner for the WWF. I didn't care whether they were trying to save the red panda or the Undertaker. The important thing was, they weren't here.

"Here," he said when I stepped inside.

"Thanks," I said, then took a deep breath. "Look. The notes aren't the only reason I came."

"Yes?"

"I need to explain something to you." And then I told him what happened at Cordelia's party -- making sure to stress how much of it I didn't remember.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said when I was done.

"I'm sure you don't," I said. "But I'd like to find out what I was doing from the time I got slipped the GHB to the time I woke up in the morning in a back bedroom minus my underwear or any company. And I have it on good authority --" good enough, anyway -- "that you were seen leaving said bedroom."

"What?"

The next part was painful for me, because I knew it wasn't true. "I wouldn't have pictured you as the kind of person to enjoy having sex with an unconscious woman." Putting as much acid into my voice as I could, I said, "Imagine my surprise."

"I didn't. I wouldn't."

"The witnesses say differently."

Duncan shook his head. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I can't believe you'd think I would do that."

I didn't. "What else am I supposed to think?"

"That it was mutual!" he yelled.

Feigning surprise, I said, "How can it be mutual when _I don't remember any of it_?"

"That's not possible," he said. "I was there. I was feeling kind of woozy and went into the bedroom to lie down for a few minutes, and, and you smiled at me and told me how good it was to see me, and then we kissed, and --" He stopped. "And I never for a moment thought that you weren't completely conscious. I thought it was a thing between us, to keep it quiet and pretend it never happened."

"If it was this great grand loving moment," I said, "Why keep it secret?" I knew the answer. I knew that the answer was wrong. But the plotline of my own life demanded this.

Duncan needed to know the truth. Which meant I need to know the lie. And at this point, I didn't. Officially.

And the explosion came. "Because you're my sister! Your mom and my father had an affair! And I knew about it and in the heat of the moment I didn't care that you were my sister. All I could think about was that I loved you and you loved me and --"

"Whoa," I said. "Who told you I was your sister?"

Circumstances held. "Mom did."

"Well, she was wrong."

"How can you know that? Your mom and my Dad _did_ have an affair. You can't deny that."

"I'm not," I said. "But just because they had an affair doesn't mean that I was the result. There's only one way to prove that, and we haven't tried that yet."

He got suspicious. "And the sex?"

I blew out a breath between pursed lips. "I believe you."

"You --"

"I believe you," I said. "I don't think you took advantage of me when you thought I was unconscious. That you did without knowing isn't your fault."

"What I did is rape."

The last thing I needed was guilty Duncan right about now. "I'm not even sure it is by California criminal law. And even if it is, you didn't have sex with me against my will, and you didn't take advantage of me while I was drunk, _as far as you knew at the time_. I don't expect you have secret mutant powers that let you figure these things out. Which only leaves whether I'm your sister."

"It's not like that's trivial, Veronica."

"No, but it's easy to find out. All we need is someone willing to give us a DNA test." Rarer back in 1997, but not nonexistent by any stretch of the imagination. "So we'll go, we'll learn that we're not related, and we can put this behind us. Okay?"

"Okay," he said finally.

"Good. Now. Did you see anything else at that party that was suspicious?"

"I wasn't there on an investigation."

"You know what I mean." I took a deep breath. "Specifically, did you see anyone else go into the bedroom?"

His fists clenched. "If I had, I would have killed them." He probably would have, too. "I saw that guy Warren hanging around outside, but the musicians chased him off."

"Okay. Thanks." Then I reached forward and gave him a half-hug. It probably looked as awkward as it felt, but it needed to be done. "It'll be okay."

"I hope so."

And now I had two excuses to talk with Warren; I had his address; and I'd talked to everyone at the party I could think to talk to.

Tomorrow should be fun.


	14. Hobson's Choices

Author's Note: The _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern_ reference borrowed from a reviewer; it seemed too apt not to use.

Disclaimer: The _Buffy _characters were created by Joss Whedon, the _Veronica Mars_ characters by Rob Thomas, and the one original character by me.

X X X X X

That night, I dreamed of Lilly, briefly.

She was in my bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Ah, Veronica Mars, how you've changed."

"I usually do before bed," I said.

She laughed. "Funny. Anyway, much as I'd like to stay here and chat with you all night, I have to take you somewhere."

"I don't think I'm really dressed for going out, Lilly," I said.

"Don't be silly, Veronica." She touched me and abruptly I had on a bright pink shirt and blue jeans. "And now you look fabulous! Not as fabulous as me, of course, but then," flipping her hair back, "Who does?"

I followed her outside and down the stairs. When I started to go outside, she said, "Nope. He's down another flight." I looked down and son of a bitch if there wasn't another flight of stairs heading downwards.

The apartment building doesn't have a basement. But then, this was a dream, so I guess now it did. Lilly gestured for me to walk down and I did.

I opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and there _he_ was, sitting behind a desk. The Adversary. The one who sent me here. "Figures you'd be underground," I snapped. "What do you want?"

He laughed, "Not much, manhunter. Just to check on your progress."

"You mean you're not able to keep track of me every second of every day?" I asked acidly.

"My dear, I'm neither omniscient nor omnipotent, and you are not the only one I'm testing at the moment. As close as you're going to come unless you make it all the way to season seven."

"The First is hardly omnipotent. Or omniscient," I said.

"I never said I was talking about the First," the Adversary said. "Anyway, so far you've been living up to your end of the bargain."

"To the letter," I said. "And only to the letter."

"True. You came close to violating the agreement when you pointed your father in the general direction of Amelia Decompress --"

"I came nowhere close," I said. "That's a thought process. I didn't mention Abel Koontz's daughter at all."

"My game, my rules," he said.

"No. If you can change the rules in the middle of the game, there's no point in playing. You're as bound by the rules as I am, or otherwise, why test me?" 

"You said you could change the Buffyverse for the better. I took you at your word and gave you conditions."

"You didn't let me _not_ play."

"You could have not played."

"Yes. Because I so desperately wanted everyone I cared for to die horribly. That's a Hobson's choice and you know it. Now. Is that all?"

"No," he said, his face getting serious. "So far you've made things only marginally better."

"Sheila's alive. I'd say that's more than marginal."

"To her? Sure. In the grand plan of the universe? Let me put it this way. There's a _Star Trek_ episode called _The Doomsday Machine_. It involves a planet-killing machine that Kirk needs to destroy, despite interference from another captain who lost his crew to the planet-killer. The name of the science officer on that other ship was Masada. Mentioned one time on one episode of a TV show. Sheila surviving is a thousand times more trivial than that." Then, sounding deadly serious, he added, "So you need to live up to your end of the bargain."

"I will." I didn't have a choice

"Good. Now --"

"Hold it," I said.

"Not many people have the courage to interrupt me," the Adversary said.

"As you've noticed, I'm not most people. Now. Next time, don't send Lilly. I don't want my thoughts of her corrupted with thoughts of you."

He said, "Very well. It's a small concession."

"Not to me."

X X X X X

Back when I went through these dreams of Lilly the first time, I woke up in the middle of the night anguished, anxious and with absolutely no shot of getting back to sleep.

Until now, I'd been spared that.

Damn the Adversary. Damn him for putting me through this. Damn him for putting everyone through this, up to and including Don Lamb. I had no use for Deputy Lamb, but even he didn't deserve to have his life played with like this, whether or not he was actually aware of what was going on.

Damn him for putting the Buffy characters through this. I thought -- I hoped -- I could make things better. But right now, the sum total of my improvements was that Sheila was still alive, and had cleaned up her act somewhat, making her somewhat less likely to end up vampire chow at some point in the future.

The problem, once again, was that I wasn't a vampire Slayer; I wasn't physically capable of changing things, beyond the judicious application of a little holy water. I've never lacked self-confidence in my ability to manipulate others when I had to -- I bow to no one except the illustrious Keith Mars in that regard -- but I've never had the stakes be quite this high before.

And I had to stay behind the scenes. If pressed, I could reveal to Buffy and company that I knew about vampires; a reputation for not being stupid would help me there. I could not reveal that I knew what was coming next. Not for love, not for money, not under a truth spell. (Did they exist in the Buffyverse? I couldn't remember.) So that made my job even more difficult.

If the Buffyverse was _Hamlet,_ my world was _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_, if Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had secretly been more like Iago, than "attendant lords . . . that will do/To swell a progress, start a scene or two."

Yes, I am reading _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_; why do you ask?

To flush such depressing thoughts from my head -- and you know how much luck I've had avoiding being cynical in the past -- and continued to read Eliot. About a half hour or so before I was scheduled to wake up anyway, I went into the bathroom and had a nice, long soak in the tub, before taking Backup out for a walk.

Yes, I realize the order should have been reduced, but I needed the relaxation more than I needed to be absolutely clean when I got to work. And Backup, while an energetic dog, wasn't the type to go dragging me hither and yon if I clearly was in the mood to hustle back to the apartment. I promised him an extra-long walk later.

He gave me a doggie look that indicated he was going to hold me to the promise.

School, honestly, was kind of a blur. Part of me was dealing with the Adversary showing up again; part of me was dealing with what I was going to say to Warren Mears.

And yet I still got 100 on a pop quiz in chemistry. Go figure.

I did notice a couple of signs of _Reptile Boy_ going on around me -- if I remembered correctly, this was the night of the big party.

I _had_ figured out what I did that had changed history, slightly: Xander had run off before the end of the scene, and I think in the episode he stuck around to spy on all of Buffy's interaction with the frat guys. This time around, I drove him off.

I hoped that didn't have any long-term repercussions. I couldn't see how it would, but I've been in the detective business long enough to get the law of unintended consequences.

In any event, I'd been avoiding direct interactions with the Scooby Gang all day, just to be on the safe side.

After school, I headed over to the Mears residence. No one was home -- of course, since Warren was at the private school. It would probably be at least another twenty minutes.

So I went back to my _Norton's Anthology_. I hadn't really been much on poetry, but it gave me something different to do while I waited.

After twenty minutes of skimming through Yeats, Auden, and Matthew Arnold, an old-style station wagon came up. A woman who had to be Warren's mother got out of the front seat; Warren himself got out of the back.

The back? Odd. Usually when there were two people in the car the passenger sat next to the driver. If Mommy dearest was making him sit in the back, that spoke to some serious psychological problems in that family.

Not that that excused anything. Logan had grown up with a sociopath abuser as a father; and while he had and always would have mental issues, he was neither sociopath nor abuser. You could transcend your past. This might be explanation, but it was not excuse.

I got out of my car after Mrs. Mears had entered the house, but before Warren had. "Warren Mears!" I called. Out.

He looked up at me. "Yeah? What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you."

"Well, that's obvious, blondie; if you wanted to shoot at me you'd have done it already."

"You have a lot of people wanting to shoot at you?" Somehow this didn't surprise me.

"No. Look, I've got a lot of homework to do. So ask your questions."

"You were at Cordelia Chase's Christmas party."

"I was, and that isn't a question."

Ah. Difficult by definition. This would be _loads_ of fun. "Do you remember seeing me there?"

He thought for a second. "Yeah. You were the drunk chick, weren't you?" 

"Drugged, not drunk. But yes. Your memory is working perfectly so far. Let's see how well it keeps working."

A voice came from inside the house. "Warren?"

"I'll be in in a minute, ma," Warren said. "Keep going, blondie. I don't have all day."

"Later on in the evening, the two musicians carried me into one of the back bedrooms after I essentially passed out to stop me from embarrassing myself."

"--okay. Yeah. I remember you disappearing. I was kinda disappointed -- looked like it could be fun. No offense."

"None taken," I said dryly. "So. How'd you merit an invite? You're not exactly one of the cool crowd. No offense."

"One of the benefits of having a rep for being a big brain," Warren said. "Neighbors who attend that hellhole ask me for . . . academic help."

"Tutoring, right?" I asked innocently. He gave me a don't-be-stupid look, which I took to mean that he was writing papers. Not clearly enough that I could use it to blackmail him, unfortunately. "Okay. That's not really important. And one of the conditions of some of your recent . . . help, was that you get an invite to the hottest party of the year. How'm I doing so far?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much how it happened," he said. Good. That part matched up.

"And now for the important part," I said. "I've got a couple of different reports that say you were seen lingering around the door to the back bedroom I'd been dumped in. Now," I said in my most pleasantly phony voice, "What were you doing there?"

He shook his head nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bzzzzt!" I barked. "Sorry, Warren, that's the wrong answer. Would you like to try again? And note that saying that you don't know what I'm talking about is not an answer."

He sighed. "Alright, alright. I watched, okay?"

"Watched what?"

"I watched you and Duncan Kane going at it."

"Is that it?" I asked.

"Well, I would've taken pictures if I'd had a video camera," he said sharply. "Otherwise, no. Nothing else happened."

"Warren!" the voice from the house came, more firmly this time.

"We done?" Warren said.

"For now," I said. I didn't have enough to get him on anything more than being a sociopathic little pervert. Which, let's face it, I knew going in. If he raped me, I wasn't going to prove it here and now.

"Good." He turned around and left.

So. Now what?


	15. Two to Go to Dinner

Author's Note: No _Halloween_ yet. Within a part or two, I promise.

Disclaimer: _Buffy_, Joss; _Veronica Mars_, Rob; story, me.

X X X X X

What wouldn't be next was one, any more investigation into my rape -- I'd hit a dead end, and short of DNA testing or a spontaneous confession there was nowhere else to go. For the sake of completeness I suppose I could run down everyone at the party -- assuming I could get Cordelia to provide me a list, or, more likely, Logan or Duncan to give me the names of everyone they saw. But I wasn't expecting it to get me anywhere.

And two, any interference with _Reptile Boy. _That would just have to go on more or less as scheduled -- there were no major negative ramifications, beyond the girls who were, unfortunately, already dead.

Halloween, though . . . I had plans for Halloween.

In fact, I had too many plans for Halloween, which was part of the problem.

Part of me wanted to derail the while thing before it started. How, was still an open issue.

A small part of me simply wanted to make sure that I wasn't caught up in the hysteria, and head off with Cordelia to buy my costumes at Party Town. That part was fairly easy to ignore. I might not exactly have a hero complex, but I rebelled against the notion of letting a whole town go to hell because I didn't want to get in trouble myself.

(The same, incidentally, did _not_ hold true for _Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered. _Assuming I didn't screw things up all to hell for Xander and Cordelia -- and how the hell odd was it that Cordelia Chase was treating me like more of a human being than Xander Harris? -- I wasn't going to be anywhere _near_ Sunnydale High the days of that love spell. If I had to pull a Ferris Bueller, if I had to run away from home, if I had to barricade myself in my room so thoroughly the SWAT team couldn't have gotten me out, nothing was going to put me under the influence of that love spell. I know, I know. The best laid plans of Mars and men. But still.)

And then there was that part of me that wanted to "take advantage" of the whole becoming your costume situation, and try to dress like someone with really cool powers and then keep them. There were two problems with this.

One was that Xander's soldiering knowledge seemed to come and go. On the one hand, he was able to break into an army base; on the other, he got into a freaking _slap fight_ with Harmony the vampire, for goodness' sake. (Which had always struck me as poor writing. Xander might not have been Captain America, but he wasn't Lucy Ricardo, either.)

Unfortunately, since I was stuck in the Buffyverse now I could no longer chalk it up to sloppy writing; I had to acknowledge that any knowledge or abilities I got would be with me sporadically at best.

Two, Ethan really wasn't stupid. He set his costumes up to cause maximum chaos. A soldier with a working machine gun was about as close to good guy as he would get. Five would get you five hundred that there wouldn't be any superhero, Xena, or Jedi costumes in the place. No dressing up like Supergirl or Wonder Woman. Hell, probably no dressing up like Sherlock Holmes. The little demons had been little demons, alright, but there had been no corresponding little angels. Ethan didn't _want_ people going around trying to fix what he'd done, or to stop the chaos from spreading. And superheroes, or warrior princesses, or Jedi Knights, or master detectives, would have brought order to the town, not chaos.

So the odds were that even if I did decide to go the "cool extra abilities" route, that it wouldn't be much help to me in the long run.

Still, I wasn't completely sure yet.

And I had a couple of weeks, anyway.

In the middle of which, I got my official invitation from Aaron Echolls for that dinner.

And, even though the only reason I had to go onto the Echolls estate was to find the camera setup hidden in the poolhouse, I lacked any excuse to do that. (Okay, I had one excuse, but I would sooner have bitch-slapped Spike than take it.)

So of course, I said thank you, but no thank you; shucks, Mr. Echolls, 'weren't nothing', I was just doing my job.

The next day, at school, I found out that Sheila was going.

"What?" I asked politely.

"'snot my idea, manhunter," Sheila said softly. "But the invitation came directly to my Mom. And of course, Mama, who can't stay sober, essentially told me that I had no choice. 'Try to hook up with the Echolls kid,' she said. So Saturday night I'm going to be there whether I want to be or not.

I laughed then quickly explained myself. "I'm not laughing at you. From what you've said your Mom's typical Sunnydale -- drunk half the time, barely able to hold on to a stripping job, but for this, she gets sober."

"Yeah. Parents. Ain't saying she was sober, either, manhunter; just sober enough."

Well, shit. I couldn't force Sheila to go through it alone. When I got home that day I called the Echolls house and accepted.

Logan answered. "You out of your mind, Mars?"

I said, "Sheila's Mom is forcing her to come. And I'm not going to leave her alone to face the tender ministrations of your darling father."

"Don't forget the booze-soaked ramblings of my darling mother," he said. I knew Logan loved his mother.

"I doubt your mother's quite the threat your father is," I said.

"I think Kelly's virtue is safe," Logan said. "As hard a time as Daddy Dearest has keeping it in is pants, he's not likely to whip it out in front of you and her, and me, and Mom."

"One can only hope," I said. "Anyway. See you there Saturday."

"I'm all a-tremble with anticipation," Logan said. "By the way: How did that investigation into what happened at the Christmas party end up?"

"With you not getting blamed for anything other than being yourself," I said. "Whatever happened to me, I don't blame you."

"Good to know, but I was actually pretending to care for a moment about something other than myself."

"Nice job. I was almost convinced." Then I added, "I found out enough. The view's not crystal clear, but I'm not looking at it through a window caked over with mud, either."

"Okay. I'll be here on Saturday. Feel free to let me run interference."

"Okay, now I'm even more convinced."

Logan chuckled. "Don't get the wrong idea, Mars. I just dislike the illustrious Aaron Echolls more than I dislike you."

"So I'm working my way up the charts. I can deal."

X X X X X

Saturday came soon enough.

In the meantime, _Reptile Boy_ had ended with more or less the same results as last time -- I saw the story in the paper the next day. Of course, Don Lamb was taking credit for being the one to finally bust the murderous fraternity house "after a long investigation," but that was only to be expected. No one had noticed it over the years. Apparently not even Mayor Wilkins.

Hmmm. There was a possibility. In _Band Candy _Mayor Dick had made it clear that he owed part of his 100-year ascension to demonhood to various other demonic powers -- and the one in that episode who wanted to eat the babies was distinctly snakelike. While clearly not every power holing up in Sunnydale did so with the advice and consent of the Mayor, they seemed a bit too similar to be coincidental.

Maybe I'd ask Mayor Wilkins if I ever got the chance. And I've taken complete leave of my senses. (Which, in this town, was roughly once every two weeks or so.)

Xander was still looking at me as though I were something that belonged in a trash compactor, Willow was being the loyal friend we all know and love except when it annoys us, and Buffy was cheerfully oblivious of that.

I actually asked Cordelia. Her response, in full, was, "Please! Like I'd have any reason to know why that loser does anything."

Which left me at least two weeks until Halloween rolled around, so two weeks until I could directly influence an episode.

I had an idea, though. Again, I couldn't tell anyone about the future, but I could mention the past.

Jana Calderash becoming Jenny Calendar was in the past.

I didn't need to make excuses or come up with plausible reasons how I came by the knowledge.

And if I was going to change things for the better, one specific thing definitely needed to be changed:

Angelus could never re-emerge.

The curse could never be lifted.

If worst came to worst and everything else went to hell, I'd solve it by finding Angel's apartment and (figuratively) kicking the door down -- a little _coitus interruptus_, in this case, wouldn't hurt anyone; but then I'd have, to use the lingo, a lot of explaining to do.

I don't know if you've noticed this about me, but except for the times when I'm telling whodunit how I know theydunit, I prefer to have other people explain things to me. So if it comes to that, I'll feel like I haven't done my job.

The first thing was to get Ms. Calendar to admit that she was born Jana Calderash.

Which meant I had some researching to do; I needed to have the proof before I confronted her.

In the meantime, dinner with the Echolls.

I showed up at 8 PM -- you know, the time rich people eat dinner and poor people are home watching prime time television, having been done dinner for at least an hour -- and had one of he Echolls servants greet me at the door.

As I looked around, I noticed that this Echolls mansion stood in relationship to the one I was familiar with in the same way my Buffyverse apartment did to the one in Neptune: Everything was different, but it was exactly the same. The trivial details of layout and furniture had changed, but otherwise? You couldn't have picked 'em out of a lineup.

Anyway, Sheila was there, dressed up -- and, to use the vernacular, she cleaned up nice -- but clearly not having a good time. She was doing her best to talk to Logan while spending most of her time munching from a tray of hors-d'oeuvres.

That she was voluntarily talking to Logan showed how horrible the night was. She and Logan got along as well as any rich psychotic jackass would with a girl with which he had absolutely nothing in common other than a shared school, and who he had absolutely no interest in sleeping with.

Lynn was standing there as well, drink in hand, but she seemed reasonably jovial. Sheila saw me and looked at me as though I represented her hope of salvation.

In the meantime, Aaron had answered the door himself with a big grin. "Veronica!" he said. "Glad you changed your mind. How are you doing?" He extended a hand.

Forcing myself to forget for even an instant that this was the hand that had beaten Lilly to death, and shaking his hand and answering pleasantly, "Fine, Mr. Echolls," surely means I'm a better actor than Aaron Echolls has ever been.

I did add, "You know, I saw that episode of _Batman_ you did the voice-over for. Gotta say, you make a convincing psychotic villain." Behind him, Logan and Sheila were making heroic efforts not to laugh. Lynn just looked confused

I kept maintaining my straight face well enough, apparently. He grinned widely and said, "Thanks very much. I'm thinking of branching into that a bit." He went over to put an arm around Logan. "I want to spend more time with my family."

"You mean the tales of your heroism haven't led to a flood of new movie offers?"

This time, apparently I hadn't kept all of the cynicism out of my voice. So be it. I'm not superhuman.

"Yeah, about that . . . that's part of why I wanted you here tonight." Then he added, "But you do understand why I did that, right?"

"Of course they understand, Dad," Logan said. "You're famous and they're not."

Aaron turned, a little angrily, but before he could say anything a servant came from the dining room and announced that dinner was served.

We all walked into the dining room.

Well. _This_ should be fun . . .


	16. Bargaining Two Times

Disclaimer: _Veronica Mars_ was created by Rob Thomas, _Buffy_ by Joss Whedon, and this combination, and the fleshing out of Sheila Kelly, by me.

X X X X X

The dinner was gourmet, delicious, and might as well have come from Kentucky Fried Chicken for all the attention we paid to it.

As we walked into the dining room, Sheila hung back to talk to me. "You didn't have to do this, manhunter," she said.

"Actually, I kind of did," I said, "I know these people and I wasn't going to let you face them alone." She smiled.

We went and took our seats. The appetizer and salad courses were taken up in small talk, primarily the recent unpleasantness at the frat house.

Between bites of his salad, Aaron said, "I wish I could say I'm shocked, but honestly, I'm not."

"You're not?" I asked, all the while thinking, of course not. Why would murder in the pursuit of self-promotion shock Aaron Echolls?

"No. I've seen people do all kinds of crazy things to get ahead in Hollywood. Ritual sacrifice isn't that far beyond."

Logan said, "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is reason number 417 why I will never pursue acting as a career. I don't think I care to get to the point where decades of mass murder become so mundane that I can dismiss them with a wave of the hand and an, "Oh, I've seen that before."

"Now, son," Aaron said. "You know I don't mean it like that. I'm as appalled as you are. But the world we live in, people will do anything to get ahead."

"Almost anything," Sheila said. "Look at man -- look at Veronica's Dad."

Lynn smiled. "That's right."

To the obvious discomfort of Logan, Aaron said, "Absolutely. Your father did what he thought was right, no matter what it cost him. I always admired him for that."

"Too bad Mayor Wilkins didn't agree with you," I said. I forbore from asking why, if he'd thought so highly of my father, he hadn't stood up for him. There was no point. This was pure showboating on his part.

"Sheila?"

"Yes, Mrs. Echolls?"

"Please," she said. "Call me Lynn. Anyway, what was that you almost called Veronica?"

Sheila said, "Manhunter."

"No doubt this has to do with her following in her father's footsteps," Aaron said. "I understand you've become quite the detective."

"I pale in comparison to my father, but I've made some efforts," I said. "But that's only part of where the name comes from. It's a reference to a superhero. J'onn J'onzz, the manhunter from Mars, aka The Martian Manhunter."

Lynn frowned slightly. "But aren't you a manhunter who _is_ a Mars, not one who's _from_ Mars?"

"She didn't give herself the nickname, mother," Logan said.

""True," I said. "I tried, but for some reason no one would call me Veronica the Brilliant."

"It fails to roll trippingly off the tongue," Logan said.

But it wasn't until the main course arrived -- goose. Goose? -- that the other shoe came clattering to the floor.

"Look," Aaron said about halfway through, "I guess the two of you are wondering why I asked you here."

"Thought had crossed my mind," Sheila said.

Lynn said, "You mean, it wasn't to thank them?"

Aaron said, "No. Look. I meant what I said about wanting to spend more time with my family. But I've heard from a couple of production companies that think making a movie about the siege of Sunnydale High would be a good idea, especially with me playing myself, and --"

Sheila might not have been a mathematics genius, but she was perfectly capable of putting two and two together. "And you want to make sure that we ain't about to contradict your story in public and maybe cost you some money."

Taken aback for a second, Aaron quickly recovered, saying, "I wouldn't put it like that. I just want to be sure our stories are straight."

I said, "Don't worry. No one's going to hear from me how you needed to be rescued by two girls a foot shorter than you are from one measly gang member."

Not sure exactly how I meant that, Aaron said eventually, "Good. Now. I'm not asking you to do this for free --"

Time once again for a patented Veronica Mars interruption. "Sure you are. Because my father wouldn't let me take money from you without knowing where it came from --"

"And Mama's gonna take any money I bring home and go out and blow it on herself," Sheila concluded.

Aaron nodded. "I can see a way out for you, Veronica. If you'll accept it."

"What?"

"I paid you to do something. You are a junior detective, so let's say I paid you, I don't know -- "

"Ten grand," Logan said, and was the recipient of twin dirty looks flashed by me and Aaron.

"Ten grand," Aaron said with bad grace. "To, I don't know, investigate something for me at the school. Like maybe how those people got in the first place. To expose the poor security."

Moral dilemma. It wasn't dirty money, even though Aaron was a loathsome, vile sociopathic piece of shit who'd murdered my best friend with his bare hands. (Unless you think he stole it because his acting is so bad. But that really isn't relevant. Not unless I'm also planning to arrest Adam Sandler.) And we could use it.

But I didn't want to accept anything from this bastard. I hadn't even wanted to come to dinner. And I sure as hell didn't want to be obligated to him.

But I had a reason besides greed to take the money. And it involved more than acting as though I'd had no idea he'd killed Lilly. In the original timeline, if Aaron Echolls had offered me ten grand to cover up something that was, to me, trivial, and that had no connection to Lilly's death or any other major crime, would I have done it.

Hard to put myself in that position. Damn hard. This is my life, not a philosophical thought experiment.

Well, it's not _my_ philosophical thought experiment. The Adversary might have a different take on things.

But I didn't have to run it as though it were an experiment. Not anymore. Because Aaron's line of reasoning gave me a wonderful excuse for doing something else.

Time to set the terms, though. "And in exchange for this money," I said, "I owe you no future obligations of any sort. Correct?"

Not hesitating for a second, Aaron said, "Yes."

"Then I accept. Provided I have the money in my hands, in cash, before I leave here tonight." I didn't trust him not to change his mind.

"Okay . . ." he turned to Sheila. "As for you. I could put the same amount in a trust fund in your name -- that way no one could touch it but you, when you turn eighteen. And if anyone asks why --"

Sheila was quick. "I was helping you with the story -- I saw things you didn't."

"Sounds good. Deal?"

"Deal."

And once again I shook hands with the devil.

Lynn looked confused. Unfortunately, at this stage of things, she very often looked confused. I always wished I'd had the chance to see her when she wasn't under Aaron's thumb.

I'd have to make sure she didn't commit suicide this time.

Still, after that, the rest of the mean and the dessert were an anticlimax, and Sheila and I made our excuses and got out of there as quickly as we could. I had ten thousand

Logan came charging after us. "What the hell?" he asked. "I never would have pegged you for the type to sell out, Mars."

Sheila began to react angrily. "Stuff it, Echolls --"

"Call off your attack dog, Mars," Logan said. Sheila barked and growled, obligingly.

"Hold on, Sheila. So. Why do you think I sold out?"

"You took my father's money," he said.

"For agreeing not to do something I wasn't going to do anyway," I said. "Look. I figured out what this was about a long time back. I hadn't pegged him as getting a movie deal out of it, but I honestly don't care what he does. And now Sheila and I each have ten grand more -- thanks for that, by the way --"

"You're welcome," he said after a second.

"And your father gets to do what he does best: Pretend to be a hero. Win-win."

Logan smirked slightly. "I get it now. Daddy Dearest thinks he got off cheaply --"

"And only the three of us know he could have gotten off even more cheaply," I said. "And I won't tell if you don't."

Logan nodded, told Sheila, "Good girl. Sit. Stay," and went back inside the house.

"Sorry you couldn't get your money now," I said.

"'scool, manhunter," she said. "I wasn't lying. Mama would drink it all up. Maybe when I'm eighteen I'll actually be able to use it for something 'sides drinking myself to death."

X X X X X

Dad got the full story, of course. He took all but five hundred and stuck it in my college account. Which, to be honest, is what I'd planned to do with it anyway.

So far his tracking the rich man's son had revealed nothing more than that the son was dating someone from "the wrong side of the tracks--" which, to give the father credit, he didn't seem to give a crap about.

Still, he wasn't convinced. Dad gave him a couple of more days. He's not going to take advantage of the man's paranoia, but after only a couple of days there was still a chance the son might be fooling him.

In the meantime, there was Jana Calderash. It occurred to me that she didn't know of the limitation on the curse; but she did know it existed, and she was there to spy on Angel.

And this came down to the main reason I'd taken Aaron Echolls' money:

It gave me an excuse for investigating why Jenny Calendar might not have been honest about her past. And Aaron himself would back me up, if anyone asked him.

Still, I had to do about a week's worth of research before I got independent confirmation that Jenny Calendar had been born Jana Calderash. A simple name change could easily be explained away -- but I didn't need to explain _all_ of my thought processes, just enough to make it convincing.

So, in between classes, while Ms. Calendar was talking to Mr. Giles in the hallway, I slipped into her classroom and left a note:

**To: Jenny Calendar.**

**Ms. Calendar -- or should I call you Ms. Calderash?**

**I was doing some research, and imagine my surprise when I found out that you had not been born with the name you currently use.**

**You seem like a nice enough person, and I don't want to get you in trouble for something that could be completely innocent. But I would like to hear an explanation.**

**Let's meet to discuss it. Shall we say, Saturday noon in the public library?**

**Sincerely,**

**Epimetheus**

I figured the befuddled route would work better than the blackmail route.

I'd save that for round two, should it become necessary.

And it probably would.

Between now and Saturday, I needed to stop off at the magic store. Jenny Calendar might not have been a practicing witch, but she was perfectly capable of pulling off a ritual or two, and I'd just as soon it not be on me.

In the meantime, Halloween was in a week and a day.

And I still didn't know what the hell I was going to do.

Welcome, once again, to my crazy life.


	17. I Titan, You Jana

Author's Note: I have a reason for the ability listed here. Also, if I have the name of the pre-Giles magic store owner wrong, let me know.

Disclaimer: Veronica Mars was created by Rob Thomas (send your Mars Bars now! If they can save a decent show like Jericho, they can save a great one like _VM_!), Buffy by Joss Whedon, and the storyline by me.

X X X X X

When I went back to the magic store -- not called The Magic Box yet, that was apparently the creation of Rupert Giles -- the woman behind the counter asked me, "Run out of holy water already?"

"Nope; I'm being careful at night," I said. "But now I'm thinking if I live here I might want to start looking into other ways to protect myself."

The woman grinned. "And I'm guessing because you're here you don't mean with a firearm."

"I'd go to my father for that," I said. "And he'd say no."

"Do you have any inherent magical ability?"

"Haven't checked." While Buffyverse magic was kind of inconsistent, there were two kinds, if I remembered correctly: the kind practiced by "Wiccas" and the kind everyone could do -- even Buffy herself, in that episode where she found out what Dawn really was. I called it ritual magic.

"Well, there's an easy way to find out," she said.

"There is?"

"Yes. If you'd come over here and touch this stone, Miss --"

"Veronica Mars."

"Nice to meet you, Veronica; I'm Raven Mistwood."

I looked at her skeptically. "Your parents named you Raven?"

She laughed. "No. They called me Rachel. My last name's not Mistwood, either. But everyone expects the owner of a magic store to have a name straight out of the more drug-addled days of the 1960's. I usually go by Rae."

"Nice to meet you, Rae," I said. "So. About this stone."

"Some people have the ability to become witches. Most don't. Grab the stone and we'll find out."

The stone in question resembled purple quartz. I reached out and took hold of it with my left hand. "And now?"

"And now, you wait," Rae said.

After about thirty seconds, I was still waiting. "Maybe it's broken."

She took it from me. After about five seconds, the stone began to glow. Not strongly. But I didn't exactly have to strain my eyes to see it, either. "That says that I have a minor amount of internal magic -- more than most people, but not enough to do more than a few minor spells on my own. Hold it again."

A minute later, there was still no glow at all from the purple stone. "So what does this mean?"

"It means you have no magical ability whatsoever," Rae said. "Not even the ability to do ritual magic. The only thing you'd get out of most of my spellbooks would be eyestrain."

Well, that killed the idea of me using magic to defend myself or protect my family.

Then something occurred to me. "The holy water worked fine."

"You're not using it on yourself, I'm guessing," Rae said. "And you're not casting anything yourself." Apparently my face still showed my confusion, because she said, "I'll use an analogy. Superman could throw a grenade, even though it wouldn't hurt him if it exploded."

Hmmm. Maybe this wasn't as bad as I thought. "So I'm invulnerable to magic?"

She said, "Not quite. A powerful enough witch could pick up a rock telekinetically and throw it at you, a vampire could attack you, -- and an extremely powerful practitioner could override it. But for your average, everyday magic, you're pretty much immune." She said, "Of course, that's a double-edged sword. It can't help you, either, except like the holy water does."

"So much for my plans for giving myself a crash course in how to be untraceable through magic," I said. "Given my limitations, is there anything here I could read that would help?"

"Why are you interested?" The question was asked mostly out of curiosity, though there was a slight edge.

I said, "Look at the town we live in. I'd like to know something about what's going on beyond 'Three people dead; Monsters definitely not to blame.' I'd like to know what it is and either avoid it, or fix it, assuming someone else hasn't gotten there first."

"It's a dangerous world," Rae said.

"It was that before I even knew magic existed," I said.

She gave me a book -- the equivalent of spell recognition for dummies, probably something a first-year at Hogwarts would think was for the feebleminded -- and told me to come back if I had any more questions.

I assured her I would, and left.

Where the hell had this come from?

I doubted the Adversary had graciously decided to give me a shiny new power.

So either I would have been magic-null no matter what universe I'd been born in, or the Adversary had done this for a reason I couldn't figure out, or there was something specific about the transfer.

The only one I could directly investigate would be option three. (For the first two, I'd have to ask the Adversary directly, which isn't something I'd do willingly even at gunpoint.) For the third option to hold, Dad, the Kanes, the Echolls, Don Lamb, Abel Koontz, and even Backup would also be magic-null.

If I gave Backup the gem, he'd just look at me funny. And no one else on that list knew about magic --

Except for Logan.

Which meant, to test my theory, I needed to shuttle him down here and ask him to grab the stone, too.

I'd just add it to my list.

It would be bullet point number 457, I think.

After I left, I got into my LeBaron and drove around for a bit until I noticed a new store.

"Ethan's," the banner read.

Halloween ETA: One week and counting.

And I still didn't know what to do.

X X X X X

I'd taken precautions, unnecessary it seems, to stop Ms. Calendar from tracing the note to me through magical means. I'd used someone else's pen, someone else's paper, and I'd written it in the cafeteria at the height of lunchtime. And the only time I actually touched the paper was when I put it on Ms. Calendar's desk. I got Jonathan Levinson to put it between pages of my textbook under the pretext that my hands were full.

Dad was home; his week's investigation on the young man had revealed nothing more scandalous than the aforementioned secret girlfriend. The man who'd hired him was satisfied and paid him.

So that night, we ate out.

"I realize you've spent the weekend trailing a teenager," I said, "But I was wondering if you'd managed to do anything more on the Abel Koontz matter."

"Just today, in fact -- at lunch I made a few calls and was able to figure out who Jake Kane might be paying off." He grinned, then said, "Abel Koontz has a daughter."

Good. Dad had figured this part out. I still needed to figure out an excuse to get into the Echolls poolhouse, so I could notice the cameras, so I could make the "logical leap" necessary to peer into Lilly's vent and find the tape of her and Aaron Echolls.

We finished dinner and went home.

X X X X X 

I waited in the library, which to my knowledge had never been seen on the show. It suffered from a distinct lack of rare book cages and tomes on the occult. It was one whole floor of a two-floor office complex. One entrance made it easy to watch, but also hard for me to get out. Fortunately, I had a dark-haired wig, sunglasses, high heels, and a reversible top. The wig -- very Sydney Bristow-esque, and how long would it be before I stopped using anachronistic figures of speech? -- I already had on. Same with the heels.

Still, this wasn't someone stupid I was dealing with, and while I was a halfway decent actress I was no girl of 1,000 personalities. I'd have to be careful.

I was browsing the new book section when I saw her walk in. She looked nervous and out of sorts -- definitely atypical for Jenny Calendar, who was normally so self-possessed. She looked around the room.

Trying not to look like Veronica Mars, I walked over and, said, "You Jana Calderash?" I made sure to pronounce it Janna rather than Jonna.

"Epimetheus?"

"My name of choice for the moment," I said. "It seemed appropriate. Anyway. Are you, or are you not, Jana Calderash?"

"You're pronouncing it wrong," she said. "But yes. How did you find out?"

"I have the advantage of hindsight," I said, which was both true and deliberately obfuscatory. "So. Why did you change your name? As near as I can tell, Jana Calderash never committed any crimes and if she were in the Witness Protection Program I wouldn't have been able to find out when she disappeared and Jenny Calendar took her place."

"It's not illegal to change names," she said.

"Of course it isn't," I said. "It's just unusual. Especially --" and now I dropped the first shoe -- "Especially when one is one of the last living descendants of a once-populous Romany tribe. I would think you'd want to maintain your ties to your heritage, not hide them." Then, as though I'd just thought of it, I said, "Unless you're keeping the name obscure for a reason."

"I'm not," she said hastily. "I just wanted a change."

It wouldn't have sounded believable even if I hadn't already known she was lying. "Maybe I should spread the name around a bit," I said. "Talk to a few people. See what the Calderash name brings." Semi-bluff. I could ask around, sure, but if I asked the wrong people they'd remember, put two and two together and wonder how I knew. And of course, I couldn't say.

"Don't," she said. "Please."

As though I hadn't heard her, I thought, "Now what would the Calderash tribe want on a Hellmouth? A way to rejuvenate their tribe? They wouldn't need to be anonymous for that. Some kind of artifact of great power? God knows the Hellmouth has a lot of them. But you wouldn't need to be anonymous for that either. No, the only reason you'd need to be anonymous is because you're spying on someone." There were a lot of other reasons, but this was the right one, so I was hoping it would rattle her. So far, she showed no signs of knowing who I was.

She gave a guilty start. "So," I said. "Who?"

"Why are you interested in this?" she asked.

"Remember my name," I said.

"You don't look like any Titan I've ever read of."

"We hired good PR agents," I said. "Anyway. Hindsight tells me that you don't know the full reason why you're here. Hindsight tells me that no one else in Sunnydale that you're even here under a false name. And hindsight tells me that these things rarely end well."

"So this is a warning? This is all for my benefit?"

"I'm not allowed to warn about the future," I said. "Just the mistakes of the past. But you know how one can affect the other." And that was as close as I could get without ticking off the Adversary.

"I'll remember this."

"Do more than remember," I said. "Take action. That's all I have to say at the moment."

"It is?"

"I want to see some evidence that you've taken action -- studied the events of the past that brought you here, let people in on Jana Calderash. I'll be in touch."

"So you're dismissing me?"

"Unless you want to stick around. I think story time's about to start/"

She said, "No thanks," and left.

I sat there and read to see if anyone was observing me. It didn't seem like anyone was. Fifteen minutes later, I made my way to the quiet reading room, took off the wig, sunglasses and high heels, reversed the shirt, and put on a pair of tennis shoes. Then I put my bag into an opaque plastic Target bag, checked out a couple of books, mostly for camouflage, and left the library.

I didn't see Ms. Calendar looking for me. But then, she was smart enough to hide herself. Still, I now looked like me and not like "Epimetheus," so I was fairly sure I should be okay.

As I headed home, I thought. In addition to the meeting-Jana-Calderash ball and the How-do-I-find-out-more-about-magic ball, there was the "Why does Xander Harris wish I was dead" ball. And I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't exactly have a juggler's physique.

Going through my merged memory, I at least knew what it wasn't:

I hadn't been at the Bronze the night of the Harvest.

In fact, I barely remembered interacting with Jesse-no-last-name at all. And don't go telling me his last name's McNally. It isn't, any more than Faith's is officially Lehane. The show is canonical. Period. Joss Whedon chose to tell everyone else afterwards, isn't. That's my policy: If it wasn't on the show, it isn't canonical.

Don't even get me started on _Fray_.

In any event, barring some bizarre chain of events, that meant he couldn't be blaming me for Jesse's death.

And for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what else I could have done. Besides, he'd been demonstrating his contempt well before that.

How long before? I thought back.

More or less at the same time as everyone else, now that I thought about it: After Lilly died.

What if --

What if there was a causal connection?

There was no Weevil in this universe, but Lilly had still been the same person, able to genuinely love a lot of men at the same time.

What if one of them had been Xander Harris?


	18. Listening to Fear, and Buffy, and Giles

Disclaimer/Author's Note: 'twas the week before Halloween, and all through the fic . . . Neither Buffy not Veronica Mars belong to me.

X X X X X

That would put a crimp in the idea of Xander's "being a demon magnet" when it came to women, but honestly, the record didn't bear that out. "Miss French" counted, sure, but Cordelia didn't, and leave us not forget that little fling he and Willow had. And honestly, Faith wasn't on the side of the bad guys when she and Xander hooked up.

Hell, think about it. Xander dates Cordelia, and eventually Cordelia gives birth to a goddess who wants to make the world a paradise, and if that means she has to kill a few people along the way, so what? Xander has a brief, physical fling with Willow, and Willow tries to destroy the world. Xander sleeps with Faith, and within weeks Faith turns to the dark side.

Xander dumps Anya, and Anya becomes a vengeance demon again.

If anything, and I don't actually believe this, this would make Xander Harris the cause of villainy in others, not the victim of bad luck.

Add to that the idea that he caused the end of the only two long-term relationships he had with women, and I think the balance sheet shows that when it comes to romantic relationships, Xander Harris is far more sinner than sinned against, even factoring in the praying mantis woman and the 7th-season chick who wanted to open the Hellmouth using Xander as the key.

None of which has anything to do with whether he might have been dating Lilly. I knew they hadn't had sex; the Adversary assured me that the only changes to canon would be those I caused. But that didn't rule out a secret history or two.

Still, there were only two people to ask, and one of them was dead.

Not that much of a handicap around these parts, but due to my inability to do magic I was kind of constrained in my ability to talk to the wholly dead. (And the _un_holy dead would be busy trying to kill me, except for Angel.)

Dammit. Now I had to get into the Kane house so I could rummage through Lilly's room --

Holy crap.

And now I had a reason to go into the vent, one completely unconnected with Lilly's murder.

Logan and I might have settled into an uneasy truce, but there was no way he would help me with this. And Sheila would be perfectly willing to scheme, but she wouldn't be able to talk her way into the Kane house except at gunpoint. (She might be willing to do that too, but I didn't want to find out.)

Hmmm.

I'd have to give it some thought.

X X X X X

I took Sunday off from plots and counterplots. Dad and I went out for the morning, had breakfast, and I spent the rest of the day on homework, relaxing, and talking with Sheila.

Even here, it seems, I had friends.

Along the way one of the more enduring, but minor, Buffyverse mysteries got cleared up: Dad and I passed a miniature golf course under construction.

X X X X X

Just another manic Monday in Sunnydale. I passed Ms. Calendar in the hall; she didn't look at me twice. My simple disguise had apparently worked.

It probably helped me that none of her usually prediction methods -- tarot, runes, etc -- were going to do her much good in tracking me down. I hadn't known that going in, and I wouldn't have changed my methods any if I had, but it would still be useful.

I was still going to operate on the assumption that I could be traced. Better safe than cursed.

As for my Xander theory, that would wait until after Halloween. I wasn't going to overload myself, and this week was already full. My plans were to stay well below radar. My private detective office was closed for the week leading up to Halloween and the amount of lip I was going to give Snyder was nonexistent. I didn't want him to know I was still enrolled in the school. One thing I definitely didn't want was to be stuck escorting kids on Halloween.

I had other plans for that evening.

Me and this attitude? Not exactly arm in arm. I have many talents, but fading into the woodwork isn't really one of them. (There's a difference between that and surveillance, which I was pretty good at, though not as good as Dad, and likely never would be.)

In the meantime, I made a trip to the library -- interrupting a conversation between Buffy and Giles. The last line I heard Giles was say was, "Actually, they tend to steer clear of Halloween. They find it kind of tacky."

"Who steers clear of Halloween?" I asked. So sue me. I wanted to see what he could come up with. I knew he was talking about vampires and other assorted nasties.

"Oh!" he said, startled. "Miss Mars. Um, well, adults."

"Adults?" I said.

"Yes. Dreadful holiday. Dressing up in costumes. I can't imagine a bigger waste of time."

"Interesting take," I said. "Anyway, I'm looking for a book."

"That is why the library's here," he said. "Anything particular in mind?"

"Poetry."

"Upper level," he said. "Up the stairway. Two shelves to your left."

"Thanks." I walked over casually and browsed on the lower level behind the big table for a minute.

Buffy said, "He said upper level, Veronica."

"It's study hall," I said. "I'm in no hurry."

After a few minutes, they went into Giles' office. Good.

I bent down, took a book out of my bag -- the most uninteresting book I could find, dummied up to look like a Sunnydale high book -- and stuck it on the shelf in the right spot.

Then I left and headed for the nearest girl's bathroom, where I took a set of headphones out of my bag.

Yes, technology had upgraded in the nine years or so between the 2006 I got sent back from and the 1997 I was in now, but bugs had been tiny for a lot longer than most people cared to realize. Fitting one into a book hardly needed a Q.

I put on the headphones and listened.

". . . rather quickly," Rupert Giles' voice came. "I wonder what that was about."

Buffy said, "Maybe she had a case to work on."

"A . . . case?"

Buffy sounded amused. "What, you thought I was the only one around here with a secret life? Veronica's following in her father's footsteps -- kids pay her to find things out, and she does it. She's pretty good, from what I've heard. And, honestly, she's put up with more crap than anyone else here, including me. She wants to run out of the library like a vampire was chasing her, I figure she's earned a little wacky behavior time." A pause, then, "I'd still like to know how she happened to be carrying something that burned Spike's face, though. I don't think I've ever seen someone so pissed."

"Yes. No luck with your efforts?"

"About the same luck she'd have taking me on in a fistfight," Buffy said. "Anyway, it's not really a big deal; if it was some kind of mace, more power to her, and if it was holy water, then good for her for knowing about vampires and how to deal with them. Anyway. Any other critters try to cause trouble on Halloween?" 

"Well, there are always the more mindless creatures that are unaware of the day . . ." and at this point I took the headphones off. Honestly, I hadn't been expecting to hear anything about me; I just wanted to be sure my bug worked.

If Jenny Calendar talked to Giles, it would likely be here. No, I wouldn't be able to hear everything, but with luck and a little blanket coverage, I'd be able to hear enough.

I had the excuse of working on the Sunnydale school paper as well -- Duncan, as with the _Neptune High Navigator_, was the editor, and I'd volunteered this week to take care of the scutwork -- proofreading, checking ad copy, and so on.

True, in Neptune I'd had to be dragged into doing photo work for the paper; here, I volunteered. I needed something to do in all that time I wasn't spending studying, and truth be told I actually hadn't minded working for the paper. Besides, it gave me an excuse to ask people annoying questions. Thank you, Lois Lane. I'd thank Chloe Sullivan, but being confused with Allison Mack and being asked whether Michael Rosenbaum's really that good-looking in person a few dozen times kind of gets tiresome.

It had the added bonus of being something Snyder actually, if grudgingly, approved of, provided we weren't rocking the boat, so if he saw me in the journalism room he wasn't likely to drag me off and force me to sign something.

X X X X X

I was there four nights that week. On Wednesday I saw Snyder roaming the halls looking to volunteer people and dove into the nearest bathroom. That it turned out to be a men's room in no way encouraged me to leave, and once I explained what our beloved principal was doing, no one threw me out into the hallway.

Duncan had also volunteered. In the meantime, the Kanes were hosting a big charity costume dance away from home.

This was a good thing. You'll see why in a minute.

I never bought a costume.

Thursday night, I finally overheard the conversation I wanted to hear -- at least, part of it.

". . .what do you mean?" Giles sounded angry.

"I mean, England, that I haven't been completely truthful with you."

"I'm getting that," he snapped.

"Look. I'm telling you, aren't I?" The woman had chutzpah, passing off my blackmail attempt as a crisis of conscience. But, to be fair, it wasn't as though her conscience hadn't been riding her in the mainstream storyline.

"Yes. Yes, you are. But to think that our relationship came from this lie --"

"Our relationship was as much a surprise to me as it was to you. And just as pleasant. What I feel about you is real. What I'm doing in Sunnydale, that's the lie."

After a second, Giles said, "That is something we can deal with later. So. You're here to make sure Angel stays miserable."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's my family duty."

She pretty much told him everything.

Of course, she didn't mention the escape clause on Angel's curse, because she didn't know about it. But, with Giles asking Ms. Calendar to get more details, I was fairly sure they'd find out at some point.

I wasn't done yet as Epimetheus. But at least I'd managed to change something concrete.

We'd see where it went.

In the meantime, there was tomorrow night to plan for.

Tomorrow being Halloween and all that.

I was going as a burglar.

Anyone care to guess what my target is?


	19. Halloween II, The Nightmare Isn't Over

Author's Note: Happy Halloween . . .

Disclaimer: Joss, Rob Thomas, me: _Buffy, Veronica Mars,_ the storyline.

X X X X X

One learns quite a bit hanging about in a sheriff's office, and then with the ex-sheriff. Dad and I didn't exactly have an Encyclopedia Brown-Chief Brown-like relationship; I wasn't "the secret terror of crime in Sunnydale," though Sheila Kelly did remind me a bit of Sally Kimball. So he didn't give all the details of his cases, especially the more graphic ones.

Still. I knew the equipment burglars used to break into private homes, mansions, office buildings, businesses, and apartments. (The business part would come in handy later in the evening.)

I also knew about alarm systems. And I knew the kind the Kanes had; it was highly sophisticated, as befitting a software magnate like Jake Kane, but it was beatable, if you knew how and weren't going after the big-ticket items or trying to break into the big wall safe. And it didn't simply go off if you entered the house.

I doubt they'd have sophisticated security protecting the vent in Lilly's room. And there was a vent; I remembered it, and I remembered Lilly hiding things there, even if the room itself was different from the one in Neptune.

Of course, I still had to get past Dad, but that was surprisingly easy. All I had to say is, "Snyder 'volunteered' students to take kids around tonight, so I have to hustle back to school."

"Nice costume," Dad said wryly, noting my black shirt, pants, hat, and shoes, and the oversized sack I was carrying, and the big dollar bill on the shirt. "I hope it's not too authentic."

"Relax, Dad," I said. "I'll get the money back to the bank before they even notice it's gone."

"Funny, sweetie," he said. "Just be careful Don Lamb doesn't see you. It would suit his sense of humor to haul you in for acting suspicious."

"Like he could catch me," I said.

"Sweetie, I know he's a complete incompetent, but even a busted clock is right twice a day."

"I won't give him any cause," I said, hoping like hell I wasn't lying.

I left at four o'clock and tracked down where Xander, Buffy and Willow were getting their kids. I listened to Xander's instructions: "Only go there for chocolate." After he was done, I walked out to where they could see me.

Buffy noticed me first. "Veronica? What are you doing here? I thought you managed to escape the wrath of Snyder."

"I did," I said. "I just wanted to see how everyone here was doing." They were all wearing their canon costumes.

Then Xander noticed me. "Hold on, kids," he said like someone who was desperately trying to avoid cussing in front of children. "Hello, manhunter," he said. "Come to laugh at our misery?"

"Naah, just thought I'd see how easy it was to steal candy from babies. But if you want me to laugh, I'll be happy to oblige you."

"I'd rather you leave," he said.

"Planning to do that anyway," I said. "But I have six words to say to you that I don't want anyone else to hear."

"I can't think of any six words you could say to me that I'd be interested in hearing, up to and including, Xander Harris, you've won the lottery."

"Six words and I'll go away. Otherwise I follow you."

We took several steps away and he said, "What?"

"I know about you and Lilly."

He didn't seem confused; he didn't act like he had no idea what I was talking about; he didn't say "What the hell?" or anything in like it.

In short, he didn't act like someone who hadn't been spending time with Lilly would be asking.

After I said it, he glared at me as though I were a known child molester for about five seconds, then turned on his heels and walked back towards his group of children. "Let's go," he told them curtly, and they walked off.

Buffy came up and asked, "What did you say?"

"That's between him and me, I said. "Let's just say I'm trying to work out the differences between us -- actually, I'm trying to work out what they are, 'and getting help from no one. If he wants to tell you, he can. I won't. Because while it may be my job to puzzle it out, it's not my secret to give away." I'd give away secrets in a cold second if they directly related to the solving of a crime, but otherwise, no. I could give you all kinds of grand moral reasons why, and truth is I do have a conscience so that would be part of it, but honestly it's easier to figure things out if other people aren't getting in your way. "Anyway," I finished, "I love the dress."

"Thanks," she said. "I'm hoping someone else likes it too."

"I'm sure they will," I said. "Now, if you'll excuse me --"

I left and wandered around town, 'coincidentally' arriving at the Kane estate around the time darkness fell. I'd already seen Duncan and his group, and they were nowhere nearby, and the Kane limo passed me as I was walking up their street, so now no one was home.

I hoped.

There was a group of children coming down the street, led by some Sunnydale High student I didn't recognize, in a giant rabbit costume. The kids were vampires, and pirates; one was a lion, one was a devil, and one had a hockey mask and was carrying an axe.

Marvelous. That's what the situation called for: A six foot-tall rabbit and Jason Voorhees, Jr.

Well, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.

And that's when Ethan Rayne, somewhere, said "Showtime."

I looked at the approaching kids.

The good news was that the rabbit appeared to have gone to Party Town.

The bad news is that none of the kids had. Fortunately, growing up in Sunnydale seemed to have instilled a sense of self-preservation in the guy in the rabbit costume, because as soon as he saw what had happened to the kids, he, um, rabbited.

The kids started running wild.

The lion ' not full-sized, but dangerous nonetheless 'came charging towards me.

I had no intentions of being easy prey. I scrambled up a tree, edged out as far on the branches as I could, and jumped for the top of the wall.

I already knew it wasn't electrified. It helped having dated one of the residents of the house.

I looked at the ten foot drop and got ready to lower myself down when I heard a loud roar from behind me.

Since I was already in "Veronica focuses on the problem to the exclusion of everything else in the world" mode, this startled me enough that I fell off the wall.

Well, that solved one of my problems . . .

X X X X X

In my head, of course, I'd had all this going smoothly; I'd forgotten that some of the affected kids might have been wandering around near the Kane mansion.

So, as I picked myself up from the ground inside the Kane estate, I cursed myself, while at the same time thinking that things could have been worse:

I could have fallen outside the wall.

I couldn't hear the lion, or any of the little vampires for that matter, but I wasn't letting that slow down my run for the house. I pulled down my mask as I ran, just in case there were any hidden cameras I wasn't aware of.

Given my costume, I suppose it would have been natural for me to try to scale the side of the house and go in through a window, but the Kane house lacked any convenient trellises, and I wasn't Buffy to be able to jump up and catch the porch roof and pull myself over.

Instead, I simply went in the back door.

Not that he'd left it open. Jake Kane wasn't that stupid. But one time. Lilly and I had been using the pool, and Lilly had shown me where the spare key was hidden 'of all places, under a fake rock. One of the first things most burglars look for; but the Kanes A, had a rock garden with about two hundred or so rocks, so a burglar would have to be patient or lucky; B, the key only worked on the main back door, not the front door, and the rock garden was in the front of the house (using the key there triggered an alarm); and C, you had to twist it in the opposite way from the way you normally twist keys. This didn't trigger an alarm, but how many people would think to simply turn it in the other direction?

I opened the back door and looked around for any signs that the Kanes had upgraded their alarm system. They hadn't.

Even if they had, I was fairly safe. This was the key behind why I was doing this tonight:

Right now, the police were busy fighting off pirates, demons, vampires, werewolves, and soldiers. Or they were simply holed up in the station.

And even if they hustled straight here, they'd have to fight their way through the chaos.

Of course, even knowing this, I wasn't simply going to blindly assume that I was safe, and casually stroll through the house. This was a surgical strike.

I went up to Lilly's room. Still a shrine to their daughter; I doubt the place had been touched, except for routine cleaning, since she'd died over a year ago.

I certainly couldn't tell any difference. It almost made me want to bow my head and wait a moment before walking in.

Almost. Lilly would kick my ass if she thought I was going along with this deification. She wanted to be "worshipped" in her way, but this wasn't it.

She'd want me going after Logan again. I might, at some point; but maybe I'd see if I could build our relationship up to the point of actual friendship again, rather than having us jump almost directly from loathing to lusting the way we did back in Neptune.

Maybe then we could be somewhat more stable.

Or maybe we would just end up as genuine friends. For all of his psychotic jackassery, Logan can be fiercely devoted to those he genuinely cares about. (How else would you explain his devotion to the waste of oxygen that was Dick Casablancas?)

Anyway, that wasn't important at the moment. Using my flashlight, I looked around the room until I found the "message pen" that Lilly had been using to pass notes to Weevil. It took me a second or two to figure out the mechanism, but eventually I pried out the note hidden inside.

Bingo. And bango. And bongo, all three. It was a note from Xander to Lilly. Xander, as you might have expected, sounded kind of overwhelmed.

It wasn't hard to figure out the nature of Lilly's interest in Xander. Lilly would have felt as though she'd been burned by the bad boys in her life (even though Aaron was next on that list). And Xander Harris was about as far from bad boy as it was possible to be at Sunnydale High without actually being a nerd. And of course, he wasn't bad-looking, which was always a Lilly criterion.

I put the pen back together, got out my screwdriver, and started working on the vent.

One screw.

Two screws.

Three screws.

Four screws.

The vent was on the floor.

I peered into the vent --

Success.

Possibly.

There was a videotape there.

And then, in the category of worst timing ever, the nominations are:

A Sunnydale Police car, pulling up in front of the Kane Estate.

You'd think a city full of rioting kids might have slowed them down.

And you'd have, apparently, been wrong.


	20. Halloween III, The Season of the Bitch

Author's Note: Halloween, the sequel.

Disclaimer: the Buffyverse characters belong to Joss Whedon; the Marsverse characters belong to Rob Thomas; and the plot is mine.

X X X X X

My instincts were telling me to drop everything and run.

Shut up, instincts.

The last thing I needed was for the Kanes to know that someone had been in their house. Yes, I was wearing gloves, but still, they had Clarence Weidman, and if there's anyone I'm not confident in my ability to outmaneuver, it's Clarence Weidman.

(Dad, of course, is on another plane entirely.)

I reinstalled the vent as quickly as I could, all the while keeping one eye out the front window, watching the police.

They didn't seem to be coming inside yet. Good. That gave me time.

Vent back in. Now. Time to skedaddle. I hoisted my bag and ran down the stairs towards the back door. There were no police or flashlights anywhere in sight. I closed the door, locked it behind me, and quietly made my way around to the front of the house, where I put the key to the back door back in the rock garden where it belonged.

The police were still hanging around the front, but they didn't seem to be coming in. Either they were waiting for me to stupidly walk out the front gate; they had no way in and were waiting for the Kanes to let them in (I doubted this; any decent security company will have a way to let police into a gated estate so that the burglars inside don't have a truckload of lead time); or they weren't here for the hypothetical alarm that went off,

Of course, now that they were blocking the easy way out, I had to figure out some other way off the property.

Unfortunately, every other way out involved scaling the wall – or waiting for the gate to open and running like hell. But while the Sunnydale police might not be swift of mind, they were reasonably swift of foot. And they had police cars.

Also unfortunately, I still wasn't Buffy, and I didn't have a handy trampoline, so jumping to the top of the wall was out.

At a temporary loss, I crept along the walls of the mostly-darkened compound to as close to the gate as I dared get.

"I don't know if Lamb is paying us enough to deal with this kind of crap," one of them said.

The other one said, "Haven't you learned anything? The Mayor depends on these people for his re-election campaigns; so if there's a citywide riot, they get special protection."

"It's just a bunch of kids," the first one said.

"In Sunnydale, there is no such thing."

Well, the good news was that I hadn't, apparently, set off any burglar alarms.

The bad news was that I was stuck in here for the duration, unless someone or something distracted the police – and while Sheila might be willing (and possibly Logan), no way in hell was I going to send them out into this night of chaos.

Which meant I had to get the chaos to end. And soon, before the Kanes came back – or, worse, before Dad noticed that I was missing. That was the only thing that kept me from hiding out in a dark corner for several hours, waiting for everyone to come home, and sneaking out when they were all in bed.

That meant I had to end the chaos, somehow, from here. And lacking mental telepathy. my cell phone (I didn't want it going off at the wrong time, like, say, now when I was thirty feet away from two police officers), or carrier pigeons, that meant I had to call someone else.

Which meant I had to sneak back into the house – which meant leaving evidence behind that someone had been in the house, even if it was only on the phone records. No, they wouldn't immediately be able to figure out from who I was calling

Cursing, grumbling, I ran back to the house, took the key from the hiding spot, and went back in through the back door.

I'd been planning to take care of this myself as soon as I was out of here. When you can't do, delegate.

The voice on the other end said, "Hello?"

"Hello," I said, disguising my voice as much as possible. "There's a new costume store in town named Ethan's. I thought you might want to check it out."

"Who is this?"

"Someone who wants the chaos in town to stop."

"Chaos? What chaos?"

"Just break the statue of Janus and it should all end."

"How do you know all this?"

"I have the gift of hindsight," I said, and hung up.

I hadn't meant to be a mysterious voice again; but I couldn't possibly identify myself. Not that Jake Kane and Rupert Giles traveled in anything remotely approaching the same circles, but I couldn't take the risk on someone else putting two and two together and getting four – aka, me.

Just to check, I called the Sunnydale High Library again five minutes later.

Nothing. Good. I checked my watch; it had been less than half an hour since the chaos started. I won't have been able to short-circuit everything, but the earlier this ends, the less damage there'll be.

I left the mansion again, moved close to the gate, and waited.

X X X X X

In one sense, it was a short wait. I knew about how far it was from Sunnydale High to Ethan's, and I knew that under the circumstances Rupert Giles would be pushing his Citroen to the limits getting there.

I'd also wondered how Willow had accompanied him -- I doubted he'd walked there. It was close, but not that close. At least by prompting him myself, I was eliminating what was probably the most egregious continuity error in the entire show: Willow and Giles go back to confront Ethan. Giles told Willow to leave, and Willow had done so, shutting the door in the process.

Neat trick for a ghost.

An on-the-fly calculation in my head -- I was no mathematics genius, but this hardly required advanced calculus -- told me that it would be about ten minutes from the time I left the house. That gave Giles time to drive to Ethan's, pound the chaos magician into a bloody pulp, and smash the statue of Janus. Possibly not necessarily in that order.

Eight minutes later, the distant background screaming stopped.

A couple of minutes after that, the police got a call through their radio. I couldn't quite hear what it said, but the upshot was that the police left their post.

I took a risk and crept closer to the gate. Both police had gone up the street about a hundred feet and they were still walking.

Ah.

Collecting kids.

Even the notoriously lax citizenry of Sunnydale would rebel at the deaths of dozens of children. I knew Spike, at least, was out roaming the streets right now, and who knows how many other vampires might not decide to take advantage of the easy meals?

The gate's bars were too narrow for me to slip through.

But I didn't need to.

I could, and did, open them manually, pressing a button on the inside, out of easy reach of any enterprising burglar on the outside.

The police, now a few hundred feet down the road, didn't notice me scampering away.

I got into my car, parked a mile or so away, and drove off.

The chaos in the streets had ended, but the remnants of chaos didn't go away right away.

Along the way, by a nice coincidence, I ran across Buffy, in her dress. She looked confused.

"Buffy?" I said, slowing down the car. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. I was near my house trick-or-treating with the kids . . . and all of a sudden I'm here."

"Want a ride back?"

Still somewhat confused, she said, "Sure. Sure. I guess I need to get back to see if those children are okay." As she got in, she said, "Any idea what happened?"

"Short answer? Riot. Now if you ask me what caused the riot, I have no idea. People were just acting really weird."

"Weird how?"

"On kid in a fairly realistic lion suit chased me," I said.

"Hmmm."

"I know. Fortunately, I got away, and then all of a sudden it stopped about ten minutes ago."

Buffy was about to say something in response, but then gasped and said, "Stop the car."

"We're not home yet –"

"There's someone I need to talk to."

I looked to where she was pointing and saw Cordelia, Xander, and a certain friendly vampire walking down the street. I stopped the car. Rolling down the window, Buffy yelled, "Hey! Over here!"

They all stopped; Angel ran over to the car. "Buffy!" he said. "We were just coming to find you." Cordelia took a couple of steps into the street, saw that Xander wasn't coming as well, and stepped back onto the sidewalk. Nope; no attraction there . . .

"No worries," she said. "Whatever happened, I'm feeling much better now. Veronica found me and picked me up a few minutes back." She looked at me like she'd suddenly remembered I was still in the car. "Veronica, this is Angel. He's a –"

"A college student," he said. "I tutor her sometimes. Thanks for finding her."

"Anytime," I said. "We short blondes have to stick together. Good to meet you, Angel." Shaking hands would have been awkward, involving reaching over Buffy, and anyway would have prompted me to make a comment about how cool his hands were. "You want to walk from here, Buffy?"

A look at Angel, then back at me. The look spoke trilogies. There was stuff they needed to talk about, and I wasn't a member of the "cool kids who know about vampires club." At least, as far as they knew.

As Buffy got out of the car, I said, "Buffy? Could you do me a favor?"

"If I can," she said.

"It might not be pleasant."

She shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"Tell Xander I need to talk to him, face to face, alone, for more than five seconds. It doesn't have to be right now – I'm not going to make him hold a serious conversation in the aftermath of a riot – but he and I need to settle our issues."

Angel grinned, cracked his knuckles and said, "I could force him to come." He sounded like he was looking forward to dragging Xander kicking and screaming. Funny mental image, but not what I want.

Buffy looked up at him and said, "Down." Then, to me: "He and Xander don't get along." I didn't need any detective skills to know that, and I wouldn't have even if I'd never met either of them. Or been blind. "I'm not going to make him."

"I'm not expecting you to. But if you could tell him one thing for me?"

". . . okay."

"Tell him I now have the proof of what I suggested to him earlier tonight, that I'm sure it's connected with the reason he hates me. And honestly, Buffy, I don't hate him. God knows he's given me enough cause to; I think he's given me more grief than Logan Echolls has, and I _know_ Logan's reasons. He and I don't have to be friends, but if he's going to be my enemy, I'd like to understand why."

"It's not like Xander to act like that." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Angel rolling his. "Okay. I'll try to convince him. Like you said. We outcasts have to stick together."

"But if we do, won't we not be outcasts any more?"

Buffy looked at me, laughed, and got out of the car.

X X X X X

Dad hugged me the second I got into the apartment, then said, as he pulled free, "I want you taking that phone with you everywhere."

"Won't it get wet in the shower?"

"I'm not joking, Veronica!" he said. "It was a riot out there tonight and I had no idea where you were! And when I called the school, they told me you weren't assigned to take students around."

"Bureaucracy --"

"Cut it out," he said. "You're safe. That's the important thing. But I want to know why you felt you had to lie to me."

Shit.

I hadn't wanted to do this yet.

But short of running, I had no choice.

Without a word, I took out the videotapes and handed them to Dad. "While you watch these, I'll be changing."

I came back out five minutes later. An array of emotions was playing across Dad's face. "Where did you get this?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"In this case, yes."

I sighed and said, "I got it from Lilly's vent."

"At least now I see why you picked this costume."

"The only day of the year I'd blend in," I said.

After a long pause, Dad said, "This proves nothing, you know."

"It proves that Aaron Echolls was a statutory rapist."

"And it gives half a dozen people motives. Aaron, Logan, and anyone else who might have been involved with Lilly." As I had a horrid thought -- that list now included Xander Harris -- Dad said, "Still, once I manage to prove that Abel Koontz didn't do it, this should be enough to get the investigation going in a different direction. Good going. And if you ever do anything remotely like this again, I'll call Lamb myself and turn you in. Get to bed."

I got.

X X X X X

The next morning I was getting a cup of coffee when Xander sat down across from me.

"Okay," he said irritably. "You have five minutes."


	21. The Hand That Cradled the Rock

Author's Note: A conversation between two people, and a one-off exemption from parodying _Buffy_ episode titles. This one was just too perfect.

BTW, I'm officially soliciting positions of _Lie to Me_: Change it or leave it alone?

Disclaimer: _Buffy _characters are the creation of Joss Whedon, _Veronica Mars_ characters of Rob Thomas, the storyline of me.

X X X X X

"Good morning, Xander," I said pleasantly. "Want a coffee?"

"What I want is to spend as little time with you as possible. But seeing as you've made it impossible for me to completely avoid you, I'm thinking we may as well get this over with as fast as we can."

"It's good coffee." No lie. The Espresso Pump and Java the Hut were peas in a pod when it came to quality.

"I don't think you want me more keyed up right now."

"I can see that," I said. "What I don't get is why." He started to say something, and I interrupted with, "Hold on. Give me a second. I'm not lying, exaggerating, or clueless, and you know I'm not stupid. So if you'd do me a favor and stall any response that says anything on the order of 'You should know why.' I don't. I know your family life sucks; I know your friend Jesse disappeared on the night of that gang battle in the Bronze. But I also know you're not dumb enough to blame me for either of those. Unless you've reached the point where you're blaming me for the Oklahoma City bombing, in which case this conversation is pointless."

After a second of silence, he said, "Am I allowed to talk now?" I made a go-ahead gesture. "Good. First, don't mention my family again."

He seemed genuinely upset, so I said, "Sorry. Wasn't trying to needle you."

"Second, no, I don't blame you for the Oklahoma City Bombing."

"I hadn't really thought so. But that brings us to the big question. What do you blame me for?"

"First things first. What did you find?"

"A note you wrote to Lilly about a week before she was murdered." Early this morning, I'd run out to a copy shop and made three copies, and taken the original back home. I hadn't expected to run into Xander so soon – what did Buffy say to him to get him to agree so quickly? – so I was lucky I had the copy.

As to why I copied it, well, I wasn't going to give him the chance to get his hands on the original – he might destroy it, like Logan did with the tapes of Aaron and Lilly having sex back in Neptune.

"I didn't –" he said, angrily.

"I know," I said, although I didn't tell him how I knew. "It's not in your character, and there are other people with much better motives."

"Like you."

I am rarely speechless.

This was one of those times.

"Me?" I finally gasped out. What the hell motive would I have to kill Lily?

"Don't insult me by pretending you don't know."

I sighed. "And again with this idea that I'm toying with you. I'm not. I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. So if it insults you to say that I don't know, well, then, I'm sorry, but I'm insulting you." I got no answer. At least he hadn't stormed off.

"I'm used to it," he said, resignedly.

"I'll answer your unasked question," I said, because a monstrously huge question now lay between us, "If you'll answer one of mine." He waved his right hand, telling me non-verbally to ask the question.

Either, that, or he was telling me to go fuck myself. Given his uncharacteristically foul temper, I wouldn't necessarily rule that out.

"My question first," I said. "When were you and Lilly involved?"

"For about three weeks," he said. "From late September to early October last year -- up to a few days before she died."

"How --"

"Your turn," he said.

Fair was fair. "The answer to your question is no."

"Good. My question is, would you mind throwing yourself into the path of the next truck down the street?"

"Not bad. Also not the actual question," I said. "Your actual question is, 'Did you, Veronica Mars, kill Lilly Kane?' And the answer to that question is not only no, it's huh? And how the hell did you come up with _that_ idea?"

Xander closed his eyes. When he opened them, he said, "I don't actually think that."

"You thought it at one point. And for a second or two right then, you were sure as hell thinking it again."

"Yeah. I was. But I don't think you held the -- what was it again?" 

"Some kind of blunt object. Call it a rock."

He said, "See, I don't think you actually held the rock. The hand that cradled the rock fooled the world. And you were grieving your ass off in those days, even while everything else was going to hell around you. And honestly, manhunter, I don't think you're that good an actress, no matter how good you are at playing detective."

It was like pulling teeth, only the guy in the chair was fighting back. "So. What. _Do_. You. Think. I. did?"

"You have a note," he said. "I have a note." He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to me.

I looked down at it, did a doubletake, read over it carefully, and said, "What the hell?"

"You tell me."

The note was dated four days before Lilly's murder. Here's what it said:

"Lilly, darling:

Good lord. Xander Harris? I mean, I can understand why you might want to slum a bit, but really, couldn't you come up with someone better than that? Don't get me wrong, he's not bad-looking, but still.

As far as how I know goes: Here's a hint: Don't make out in public. Closets are your friend, sweetie. This isn't public knowledge or anything – I'm not a gossip. I'm just looking out for you. If you want to go dumpster diving on your break from Logan, that's your business. Just watch out – there are other people out there who might like to see you fall from grace.

Cordelia Chase, for instance. Or any of her followers. Can you imagine what Harmony Kendall would do if she got hold of this?

Talk to you later –

Veronica

I had to admit, it looked like my handwriting.

It wasn't, of course, though it was a passable imitation. It wouldn't have fooled me or my father, but it might have fooled someone who didn't know me quite as well. Even in my fluffiest, pinkest days I never wrote like that. Apart from the salutation – yes, I would have called her "Lilly, Darling," though mostly as a running gag – it sounded nothing like me.

Who did it sound like?

Well may you ask.

It sounded like Lilly trying to sound like me. Lilly Kane had many talents, but impersonation was never one of them. She was having too much fun being herself to put serious effort into being someone else. (The handwriting was a different story – I could do a passable imitation of her writing, as well, only mine would have sounded like here. One of those things girls learn to do in case they want to try to fool each other's parents, for whatever reason I could never figure out. Dad wouldn't have been fooled, anyway. Lilly and I did mostly because she thought it was fun.

Same reason we did a lot of things.

I knew immediately why Lilly had written the note. At least, I thought I did. She was in the first flush (and the last flush, perfect metaphor for their relationship) of her affair with Aaron Echolls, and while Lilly was perfectly willing to, as someone put it, "Relationship around," she didn't like things to get too complicated. Three guys on the string at once would have been a bit too much for her.

Three guys? Sure. Logan, Xander, Aaron. No matter that she and Logan were in an off-again stage in their relationship; she thought Logan was still on her string, and given how Logan blamed me after Lilly's death that was a fairly safe assumption on her part.

So she needed to break it off with Xander; but Xander, unlike Logan, wouldn't have done anything remotely actionable to offend Lilly. (Clothes fluke notwithstanding. Talk about your baldly naked plot devices.) And Xander was a genuinely nice guy – and Lilly would have tried not to hurt him.

Lilly wasn't malicious, really. She could be insensitive, but that was entirely different. If you treated her badly, you could expect the same back, but she wanted everyone to love her, and casually dumping someone wouldn't have engendered that. Not that she was that calculating.

So it would have fit Lilly's character to dummy up a letter from me and use that as her excuse to break up with Xander. It never would have crossed her mind that Xander might blame me for the 'shipwreck. She would have figured that Xander and I ran in different circles, and anyway she'd always be there as a buffer between us.

She was Lilly Kane. She was indestructible. She never would have expected the hand that cradled the rock, either.

"Well?" Xander said. Note that by now we'd gone well over the "five minutes" he'd allotted me when he'd unceremoniously plopped himself down in the opposite chair.

"Well, what?"

"Look at that and tell me you don't know why I hate your guts."

"I know why," I said. "Tell me. When Lilly broke up with you, did she tell you that you might be able to get together at some point in the future once I'd gotten less suspicious?"

I got an unreadable look in response, followed by a "yes."

"So did you blame her or me?"

Xander's look was now readable, and was pure hostility. "You."

"And if I told you that I hadn't written that letter?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"I'd say you were lying through your teeth." And right on cue . . .

"Is there anyone you'd trust?"

"Your father would be biased, and everyone else in the police department would have trouble spelling cat if you spotted them the C and the A."

A trifle offended, I said, "Trust me here. Keith Mars? Not biased. Still, I get why you wouldn't want to go to him. And as for the rest of the police department, I agree. Hell, I don't think they'd be able to spell it even if you gave them the T. So. Anyone else?"

"You won't trust her."

And like that I knew. "Tell me. I'll make the judgment."

"Willow, manhunter," Xander said.

I didn't hesitate. "Done. Do you want to call her or should I?" I got out my cell phone.

"I'll do it," he said. "She wouldn't believe you." I think Willow was a lot less hostile to me than maybe Xander thought she was. I don't think she was too fond of me, but she'd never treated me like evil incarnate.

I still didn't have the complete reasoning behind Xander's visceral hatred, but I had a lot of it now, and I was betting the rest of it was similar to the reason Logan had hated me. I had been the reason, ostensibly, that neither of them had been with Lilly had the time of her death, because they would have been able to protect her.

Never mind that that wasn't true. Aaron Echolls would have had no hesitation at trying to take out Xander, too.

Hmmm. Xander and Logan both had abusive fathers. At some point that might be worth exploring.

But now wasn't that time.

As I handed him the phone, I said, "Once she tells you I didn't write that note, I want you to agree to do something."

"If it involves standing on my head in public, I'm out," he said. "'cause that never works." Goodness. Honest-to-God Xander Harris goofiness shining through, if only for a second.

"No gymnastics ability of any sort will be required," I said. "Instead, I want you to see something."

"What?"

"The hand that cradled the rock."


	22. The I In Line Four

Disclaimer: The plot and the expanded "Sheila Kelly" are mine; the Buffyverse is Joss's; the Veronica Mars characters are Rob Thomas'

Author's Note: This scene took longer than I thought; I should be approaching Lie to Me by the end of the next section.

X X X X X

Even though she knew we were coming, Willow still seemed a bit surprised that Xander and I showed up at her front door together. I suppose it would have been like seeing Bill Clinton and Rush Limbaugh -- or George W. Bush and Michael Moore.

That, by the way, was a field of thought I had to firmly clamp down on. The idea of tampering with the overall future was tempting as hell -- and that wasn't even considering the bets I could place. The Adversary hadn't placed any restrictions on changing other things -- but almost certainly did so on purpose. The more I concerned myself with the world at large, the less I'd be paying attention to the Buffyverse. So preventing Columbine or 9/11 was, for the moment at least, out.

My resolve might weaken the closer things got to September 11 -- if they ever did. My forced wager with The Adversary was open-ended, and I had no idea what would happen if I won. Would I stay here? Would I return to the summer before my freshman year at Hearst? Inquiring minds desperately wanted to know.

Back to the present. "I'm not sure why you want me to do this," Willow said.

I asked, "Can I try to answer?" Xander gave a go-ahead gesture. "It should have occurred to me before this. Partly, it's because you're smart and Xander and I both trust you."

"You trust me?"

"When it comes to intellectual matters, yes. You might be Xander's best friend, but you wouldn't cheat or lie about something like this if it meant the difference between a full scholarship and flipping burgers at the Doublemeat Palace." Willow's ethics might be shaky when it came to other things, but for the longest time her intellect was what separated her from the rest of humanity. She wouldn't compromise her principles there.

I don't put myself in her class. I'm bright, but I'm not at her level.

Looking at me with curiosity, Willow said, "You said partly."

"Sure. There's another reason Xander wouldn't want the police or anyone else to see the letter he has, or the one I have, for that matter: You're the only one he's told about it. So it wouldn't matter if the chief of police was Sherlock Holmes. You're the one he trusts, because you're the one who knows. Even as far outside the mainstream of Sunnydale High gossip as I am, I would have heard about Xander's secret relationship, if it was general knowledge."

There was mild admiration in Willow's tone when she said, "Well, yeah, I mean, I've never told anyone. Honestly, I'm still wondering how you found out."

"I investigated," I said. "That, and a knowledge of the way Lilly Kane operates."

"Okay," Willow said, all business again. "I just want to warn you -- I'm not a handwriting expert." She looked at the note Lilly had written while pretending to be me and said. "Still, I can probably give you a decent layman's opinion. I've done some reading on it."

"You have?" Xander asked. I had, but then, it had to do with my chosen procession. I couldn't pretend to be an expert, either, but I probably know more than anyone in town except for Dad.

Still, it didn't surprise me that Willow had. "Xander, what do I do when I'm not hanging out with you or Buffy or doing something on my computer?"

"Reading -- oh."

"Right. I read. I read things that are interesting and things that might be useful someday."

"You thought handwriting analysis might be useful?" I asked.

"This is Sunnydale," Willow said, as though it explained everything.

Actually, it more or less did.

"There's one thing I'm going to need before I examine this, though," she said. "Veronica, could you write this out? I mean, if it's not too much trouble --"

"It's not," I said, and within five minutes Willow was on her way upstairs with Lilly's forgery and my real thing.

That made for an awkward five minutes where Xander did his best to look everywhere but at me. For me, not quite so awkward; I pulled out the book I'd been reading when Xander sat down and kept reading.

No, I wasn't like Willow, to read at every spare moment, but I enjoy it on occasion. I wasn't working on any cases, for myself or dad, and none of my homework at the moment was the kind of thing I was going to need more than a brief refresher course in.

I didn't feel like I was cheating, by the way. The way I see it, I already went through this once and pulled off salutatorian.

Would've made valedictorian if I hadn't decided to head out for the honor of watching Aaron Echolls get declared not guilty of killing Lilly.

I don't know who killed Aaron back in Neptune. I do know that, short of it being Osama bin Laden, I was going to thank them for it. Assuming I ever got the chance, of course. For all I know I was going to be in the Buffyverse for the rest of my life.

Assuming I didn't get myself killed along the way. The Adversary didn't spell it out, but I'm fairly sure my untimely death would end the bet, with me losing.

Anyway. After those five minutes, I took out my cell phone and walked out to the front porch, calling home. No answer. Another weekend, another bail-jumper for Dad. Smart bail-jumpers tended to give Sunnydale a wide berth, which made Dad's job easier and harder. Those who did show up tended to be morons. They also tended not to last more than a couple of days. But it meant more than occasional trips to LA, Kern County, and environs. Right now, he was headed to LA.

"Hey, sweetie," he said. "How's it going?"

"Reasonably well," I said. "I think I've figured out another personal mystery. Any progress on the wider one?"

"Still tracking down Abel Koontz's daughter," he said. "I get the feeling she's the key to the whole thing."

"So do I," I said. "In the meantime, you gotta do what pays the bills."

"This personal mystery," he said. "Anything I should be concerned about?"

"Don't you think I'd let you know if there were?" I could feel his glare through the phone. "Okay. No. Nothing you need to be worried about. Happy?"

"Ecstatic, sweetheart. I'll call you tonight."

We said goodbye and hung up. When I went back inside, Xander and Willow were waiting. Xander had a vaguely sour look on his face. "And the verdict is?"

"Not guilty," Willow said matter-of-factly. "That is, you're not guilty of writing this note."

"So what am I guilty of?" I asked.

"What?"

"Well, the way you phrased that made it sound like another shoe was going to drop." I didn't know what she could have found out, but I was taking no chances.

"Oh! Nothing. Nothing I can tell, at any rate."

"So I didn't write the note."

Willow took a deep breath and said, "No. Not as far as I can tell. I can try to get technical if you want –"

"That's okay," Xander said. "Really. You've done enough for one day." I could hear his paradigm shifting. "Dammit, though. I thought she cared about me."

"Lilly? She probably did," I said. "This was always the way she operated. She had relationships with a lot of guys – but she loved and cared about each and every one of them."

"So go ahead and get it over with," Xander said after a second.

"Get what over with?" I asked.

"The gloating. The manhunter was right, the X-Man was wrong. Go ahead and crow." There was over a year's worth of loathing built up in there. That didn't dissipate in a day.

"I don't do that." Yes, I did; but I wouldn't be doing it in this case. This wasn't a case of Xander being stupid; he genuinely thought he had a reason to dislike me, and had what he thought was good evidence. This wouldn't be taking pride in someone else's stupidity; this would be clubbing a baby harp seal. "But you owe me two things."

"msry," he mumbled.

"What?"

"I said, I'm sorry," he said a bit louder, but without much of the accustomed heat.

I said, "Thanks, but I wasn't really angling to force an apology. Here are the two things. One, stop calling me manhunter. If you can't bring yourself to call me Veronica, call me Mars. Manhunter wasn't a bad joke, when you were the only one saying it. Do you realize that only four students at this school actually call me by name, when they talk to me at all? Buffy, Cordelia, Logan Echolls and Duncan Kane."

"I call you Veronica," Willow said.

"Sometimes you do. When Xander isn't around," I said.

"I didn't realize it bothered you so much," Xander said,

"It doesn't. You wanted it to, but it doesn't. I'm just tired of hearing it from you, that's all." I'd found it mildly annoying at first, but this was the time when everyone and their dog was treating me as though I were something to be scraped off the bottom of one's shoes. Getting a new nickname was adding insult to injury, but at the time I was paying more attention to the injuries than the insults.

Still.

"And the second?"

"The hand that cradled the rock."

"You think you know who killed Lilly." He didn't phrase it as a question.

"I do. I also know that you're not going to be over your anger at me until you have someone else to focus it on. Come on."

As Willow started to follow us out, I stopped her. "No," I said.

"No?"

"I'm going to tell her anyway," Xander said.

"No, you're not. You're not going to tell her, you're not going to tell Buffy, you're not going to a church and confessing it to a priest. I'd say not to tell your parents, but we both know that isn't happening anyway. You will agree to these terms or I won't tell you anything. Willow, I'm going to need you to agree as well."

"Why –" Willow began.

"Because we don't have evidence that's good enough for a court of law. Because we're looking for that evidence. And because someone who doesn't know what they're doing blundering through could only make things worse. I'm not saying this to be insulting, believe me. But you're not a detective."

"Neither are you," Xander said.

"Do I have the license? No. Do people ask me to investigate things for them and pay me money? Yes. So practically speaking? I have a lot more experience than you," I said.

As Xander opened his mouth, Willow said, "I agree." Xander looked at her, a mildly hurt expression on his face. "She's the expert," Willow said. "When it comes to – other stuff – Buffy or G, Mr. Giles might be the expert. But, when it comes to these things, Veronica is."

Looking at me, Xander said, "Okay. I promise. I won't tell anyone."

"Good. And remember, I'll know if you lie."

"Do you read minds?" Xander asked, semi-seriously – but if I hadn't already known about the reality of life in the Buffyverse, it would have come across as just another wacky thing said by the wacky Xander Harris.

Never mind that Xander, at the moment, was feeling about as wacky as a broken leg.

"No," I said. "I see all, but I don't necessarily know all. Willow, thanks."

"You're welcome," she said.

"Shall we?" I asked Xander.

"Why not. This madcap whirligig of fun that is my life needs to stop every once in a while."

X X X X X

I had relied on Dad not having had time to lock the evidence up in his safe. (I was also relying on the thorough going-over I'd given the apartment checking for bugs, and wasn't accepting any mysterious gifts through the mail and setting them up on my desk so my room could be conveniently bugged. Clarence Weidman was only going to fool me once, in that regard.

I made a quick phone call on the way to my apartment. When we got there, Sheila was waiting. "You want her to see it?"

"No," I said, "And hi, Sheila."

"Hey, manhunter," she said. "So what do you need?"

I stepped over to her and said, very quietly, "Stay by the door. No one gets in or out. And don't watch the TV. Please."

She nodded her head. "'scool. I got it."

As we stepped towards the TV, Xander said, "She gets to call you manhunter?"

"She likes me," I said. "And I like her. Now. Sit down."

Xander sat. I popped in the video and said. "This is what Lilly did after she broke up with you." And who she did, for that matter.

Xander was on his feet and headed for the door within ten seconds.

I hate it when I'm right.


	23. Not Enemies

Author's Notes: One story ends, another begins.

Disclaimer: Buffy, Veronica, plot: Joss, Rob, me.

X X X X X

And this, of course, is why I had Sheila handy. Lacking a taser or superhuman powers, and not wanting to get Backup in trouble, I had to have someone blocking the door.

Xander said, "Move it."

In response Sheila crossed her arms and leaned back against the door.

"I said –"

"I heard what you said the first time," Sheila said. "And the answer is no." And from the expression on her face you could tell it would take a bulldozer, or a Slayer, to move Sheila when she didn't want to be moved.

Xander looked around the room. "No balcony," I said. "And if you break a window and try to climb out I think even Deputy Lamb would be willing to arrest you." I dragged him back towards my bedroom and shut the door. I'd tell Sheila what I could, later, but I didn't want her hearing it now.

"I have to –"

"Have to what?" I asked. "Run at full speed towards the Echolls house, kick the door down, and beat the hell out of Aaron Echolls?"

He nodded vigorously. "See," he said, "That's kind of what you do with bad guys."

"Okay. And when you explain to the nice men in the blue uniforms why you attacked the world-famous movie star, what will you say?"

"That he killed Lilly Kane."

"Oh, really? Where's your proof?" He gestured towards the VCR. "That's not proof," I said. "That's reason for suspicion. It wouldn't even get you an indictment in most courts, much less a conviction. Honestly, the police would be more likely to think of it as reason for you or Logan to kill her."

"Huh?"

"Think," I said. "Your ex-girlfriend is sleeping with another man. In a murderous rage, you –"

He held up a hand. "Okay, I get it," he said. "So what do I do?"

"The hardest thing," I said. "Nothing."

"Nothing –" he said angrily.

"Nothing. My father is working on building a case to both prove that the man who confessed didn't do it, and that Aaron Echolls did. Even I'm not doing much more than theorizing. I'm the expert on investigating when it comes to most other people in Sunnydale. When it comes to my father, I'm a rank –" I resisted the temptation to add the word "arrogant" – "amateur. I'm letting him handle it." For the most part. Xander didn't need to know that I'd found the tapes.

"So you expect me to pretend this never happened?" he asked.

"No. I'm expecting you not to ruin the chance to bring down the son of a bitch who murdered Lilly. No talking, and no doing either."

"And I expect Sheila will come in here and punch me in the nuts repeatedly unless I agree?"

"She would if I asked," I said. "But I'm not going to ask. I'm going to ask you to agree because, honestly, if you think about it, it's the right thing to do. Would you rather have a moment of fleeting revenge followed by public humiliation, or the chance to put him away for a long time?"

Xander started to answer, stopped, and then said, "The second one. Dammit."

The moment of crisis seemed to have passed. "You realize I took a major gamble trusting you," I said.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why trust me? After the grief I've given you --"

"Because I think that by and large --" The Lie exempted, and if I had my way, the situation leading to that would never come up -- "You're an honorable person. All the crap you've given me, you've never come even close to trying to get me in trouble. You've been vicious, you've been insulting, you've been a smartass. But you've never tried to have me arrested, or even to get me in trouble with Snyder."

"Well," he said, "There are enemies and there are enemies." For a second, he smiled slightly.

For a second.

"I was never your enemy," I said.

"I certainly gave you enough provocation."

"No," I said, "You didn't."

We left the bedroom and walked out to the living room. "Okay, Sheila," I said, "I think he's no longer going to do something really stupid." After a second I said, "At least not more than ordinarily stupid."

He glared at me for a second and then said, "One thing, though Manh-- Veronica. If what you're doing fails --"

"We'll work on plan B if plan A fails. But, since my father's doing it? I don't expect it fail."

Gently, he said, "Who's sheriff now?" A point that hit home. But he didn't seem to be doing it to try to be cruel.

As he walked towards the door, Sheila stepped out of the way. But when he opened it and tried to step outside, Sheila grabbed his arm and said, "I don't know what you talked about. But if you go back on your word -- remember what I used to be like and think about it."

When, five seconds later, Sheila let go of him, Xander left without saying anything else.

After Xander left, I asked Sheila, "You sure you don't mind me not telling you what this is about?"

""'scool," she said. "You bought yourself a shitload of leeway way back when you saved me from that British guy. 'sides, I trust you. If you thought I needed to know, you'd tell me."

A completely unrelated thought crossed my head. "Now that you bring it up: If there's a screaming emergency involving vampires or other supernatural/demon-type creatures: go tell Mr. Giles."

"The librarian?"

"Yeah. He knows a lot about it and he knows how to get in touch with people who can do something about it. But, like I told Xander, this is a secret. You're the first person in Sunnydale I've told." I didn't feel like I could give away Buffy's double identity, but I did want someone else to know who to turn to if and when the shit hit the fan. I'm not assuming that what we saw on television is all that happened. "And only go if it's an actual emergency. A mass attack or something like that. If they ask you how you know --

"Don't need to worry, manhunter," she said. "I'll tell 'em I ain't stupid. 'cause I'm not. If most people around here want to be blind, that's on them. I'll just say I know what I've seen, and I figured Mr. Giles was the one to go to 'cause, you know, he has all of those weird old books lying around in that cage."

I was impressed. "Not bad."

Sheila laughed. "I like people to think I'm as stupid as I act," she said.

X X X X X

Fortunately, Sheila didn't need to carry through on her threat. As near as I could tell, Xander didn't tell anyone, the Echolls house experienced no mysterious break-ins I was aware of, and there were no stories in the paper about Aaron Echolls fighting off mysterious attackers.

Of course, I wasn't just relying on my keen eyesight and the journalistic integrity of the Sunnydale "Monsters definitely not involved" Press. I kept listening in with my handy book-bug at random moments. I was only interested in a couple of things. If they were talking about ordinary training or whatever Buffy killed last night or even that cute guy in chemistry, I pulled out. Their lives, their business, and I'm a detective, not a voyeur.

Three things I listened for: Anything about Lilly Kane; anything about Jana Calderash; or anything about me.

I heard two of the three. If Xander was talking about Lilly Kane, he was doing so under cover of darkness and being very subtle about it. Xander Harris may be many things, but subtle isn't one of them.

The me conversation and the Jana Calderash conversation were, more or less, the same discussion. In the middle of that week, after Buffy returned from an early patrol (and while I was still in the school "working on the student newspaper"), Giles, Jenny Calendar, Buffy and Angel were in the library.

"So, what's the big to-do?" Buffy asked. "We got ourselves an ultra-tough monster of the week this time around?"

"Ms. Calendar," Giles said a bit stiffly, "Has something of import to tell you."

"Of course she does," Buffy said.

"Buffy –" Giles began.

In typical fashion, Buffy breezed right through the warning tone in Giles' voice. "I mean, you never call us in here for something trivial. Something light-hearted."

"Buffy –" Giles said again.

"Why is that?" she asked. "Why can't you ever call me in here and say, 'Oh, nothing big. Just wondering if you wanted part of my turkey sandwich. How's your Mom? But no, it's always about the doom and gloom with you."

"Buffy!"

"Yes?" The Slayer said innocently.

"This is truly serious. Ms. Calendar, the floor is yours."

And then, hesitantly, haltingly, Ms. Calendar explained who she was, and who she was there to watch, and everything she knew about the curse.

Buffy was angry at first, but Giles eventually managed to calm her down. As for Angel, he was a lot calmer. "You say you're looking into it?"

"Yes. It may not be as simple as it seems. Most of the curses my people gave have, for lack of a better term, out clauses. If anyone would know what your out clause is, it would be my uncle, but he's hard to track down--"

"Surely," Giles said, "Using the infernal machine --"

"He's a bigger Luddite than you are, England," Ms. Calendar said. "I'm relying on word of mouth to let him know I want to talk to him. I don't want Angelus to come back any more than you do. In the meantime, don't do anything you haven't done in the last hundred years or so."

"That doesn't exactly narrow it down," Angel said.

"No, but it does mean that it's not likely to happen on the spur of the moment," Buffy said. "Which is a mild relief -- unless maybe it was just a time limit?"

Ms. Calendar said, "No. If that was it, Uncle Enyos would have told me."

"So," Buffy said mildly; I could hear the -- well, the dangerous tone in her voice. Whatever she said, it seemed to me it had damn well better be answered honestly -- "Why come forward?"

A period of silence, and then Giles said, "She had a crisis of conscience and came to me about it. After some conversation, we agreed the best thing to do was tell the two of you. Whether you tell Willow and Xander is entirely up to you."

"Don't tell Xander," Angel said. "He already doesn't like me. How much worse is he going to get if he thinks I might suddenly become evil at any moment?"

"If he did, he might have a point --" Giles began.

"I think we're safe for the moment," Ms. Calendar said. "Just be careful."

A few more minutes of conversation, and Buffy and Angel left. I was just about to stop listening in when I heard Giles ask, "So why _did_ you tell me?"

Ms. Calendar sighed. "I was feeling guilty."

"That," Giles said, "Is evasive. And clumsily so."

"I'm not lying."

"I never said you were. But if you're telling me the whole truth, I'm a Polgara demon."

The technopagan said, "It was a crisis of conscience mixed with blackmail."

"Someone blackmailed you into telling me?"

"They said they'd do it themselves if I didn't. It was the excuse I needed. I hated having to spy on you, Rupert. But they warned of dire things to come if I didn't."

"Someone told you the future?"

"Actually, no," Ms. Calendar said. "She was more concerned with the mistakes of the past. She called herself Epimetheus."

"Do you know how I knew to go to Ethan's?" Giles asked. "I received a mysterious phone call from a young woman who said to go there -- and that she had the gift of hindsight."

"Damn close to Epimetheus, in translation."

"Too close to be counted a coincidence," Giles said. "I suspect we're being manipulated."

"Yeah. But is it for our own good or for some sinister higher purpose?" Sadly, I had to admit it was for a sinister higher purpose, though it sure as hell wasn't _my_ sinister higher purpose. My motives were 99 44/100 pure.

I wasn't their enemy either.

I listened to them speculate for a few more minutes -- neither had any idea it was me -- and left.

Something else to keep an eye on. Wonderful.

X X X X X

I'd decided not to meddle with _Lie to Me_. The next time I got involved in the Buffyverse would be _What's My Line_. Giles and Ms. Calendar got no close to figuring out who I was, and were still unable to track down Uncle Enyos.

Eventually I supposed I'd have to drop a few hints of my own. I'd have to be a lot more careful than I was the first time, though.

In the meantime, also, Dad managed to trace Amelia DeLongpres, though he hadn't been able to see her. I helped him deal with a case of bizarre thefts at a shopping center that turned out to be a distraction from something someone was doing a few blocks away.

Then, one morning, a stranger hight Billy Fordham wandered into the school.

I went to The Bronze that night and watched the expected awkward meeting play out. Satisfied that things were going as I expected, I went home.

As I was about to enter my apartment building, I felt a tap on the shoulder.

I yanked my holy water pistol out of my bag and spun around.

It was Angel.

"Veronica, right?" he asked. "We met briefly back on Halloween."

"Yeah . . . "

"Angel. Buffy told me you're something of a detective."

"Yeah . . ." I didn't like where this was going.

"Good. I need you to find out everything you can about a man named Billy Fordham."


	24. Lies My Students Told Me

Disclaimer: Rob owns the VM characters, Joss the Buffy characters, me the plot and this expansion of who "Sheila Kelly" could have been.

X X X X X

I know it's a cliché, but if someone had wandered by with a feather at the moment? Could've knocked me over with it.

Not to sound too valley girl, but I was so not expecting this. It's something I remembered from science class: The act of observation changes what is being observed. My mere presence in the Buffyverse, even when I wasn't actually doing anything, had the potential to alter canon.

I was going to have to work hard to make sure that nothing did change here. There was nothing that could be improved here. The only death was Billy Fordham's, and it was inevitable, whether it happened locked in a basement club or six months from now in agony from a brain tumor. It crossed my mind to make sure the latter happened, but it crossed out just as quickly. Tempting as it was to have the son of a bitch die slowly and painfully, it wasn't my job to play judge, jury, and executioner. I am not Dirty Harry, nor was meant to be.

"Okay . . ." I said. "So what can you tell me about him?"

"He used to attend the same school Buffy did in LA."

"That's a start," I said. "What else?"

A couple of times I had to interrupt him and tell him that I wasn't interested in his emotional impressions, just the facts. That Angel didn't trust him wasn't relevant. He was right not to, of course, but he couldn't know that, and I certainly wouldn't have any reason to. Still, after five minutes I had pretty much everything Angel knew about Billy Fordham.

Which wasn't much; a brief introduction in a crowded club didn't exactly lend itself to a detailed character study. "Two things." I said.

"I can pay you," he said.

"Three things," I said. "First, I'm not going to be your proxy stalker. If I investigate Billy Fordham and don't find anything suspicious, you're on your own."

He seemed a little annoyed at the word stalker, but didn't let the annoyance enter his voice. "Fine. Second?"

"Second, why come to me?"

"I needed someone to investigate him, and that's what detectives do," he said.

"And three, $200."

He said, "I can have it for you by tomorrow." How, I wasn't sure, but I doubted he was knocking over liquor stores.

"Good. I can do a little research tonight and get back to you tomorrow morning – where will you be around lunchtime?" In the mainstream universe, Angel had stayed near Willow while she did the research. But A, Angel wasn't my friend, and B, no way in hell was Angelus potentially getting an invitation into my house.

Of course, I also knew that Angel, around lunchtime, would be somewhere out of the sunlight, but that was something else I would have no cause to know.

"I was hoping you'd be able to come up with something tonight," he said.

"I probably will -- but it's a school night and, while Dad trusts me to know my limits on when to go to bed, he's not going to want me sneaking outside, and given what time of night it is he's not going to be too fond of the idea of you coming inside, either." I had to get him that information, though.

"Meet me in the school library at lunchtime," he said. Sure. He could come up through the sewers, and leave the same way.

"Who was that boy I saw you with?" Dad asked when I walked inside. For a lot of people, this would be the prelude to either a joke or a paranoid demand that I account for my actions, about which I was probably lying.

Not in Dad's case. He meant the question, no more, no less. That didn't mean he wouldn't pry if he thought I was hiding something, though I was planning to tell him more or less the whole truth here. "His name's Angel," I said. "He just hired me."

"A little late, and an odd choice of location," he said.

"True," I said. "In short, he's a college student who tutors Buffy Summers, and he doesn't trust an old friend of hers who just showed up in Sunnydale."

"Does he have reason to be mistrustful?"

Of course he does. But I couldn't say that. "Probably not. It seems more like jealousy than anything else. But he doesn't seem delusional, and I've met him before and he seemed sane enough then, so I told him I'd do some quick research and let him know what I found. If I find nothing, I'll tell him so. If he's right – and by right I mean "something genuinely twisted," not something trivial – I'll tell him that too. What he does with the information then is up to him. I don't think this is prefatory to Angel beating the guy up. If that was what he wanted, he had plenty of time to do that already." Omitting, of course, that that would have led to a big fight with Buffy; but Dad knowing that would only complicate matters.

Dad homed in on one word: "Jealousy?"

"Maybe. Of course, that's from a ten-minute conversation. But it seemed more than a professional concern. He seems like a nice guy, though." A little late to the game, I realized that I certainly didn't want Dad calling Joyce Summers – I don't think they'd ever met – with concerns about her daughter's love life. For many people, this would have been nosiness. Not for Dad. No matter that Dad's not officially Sheriff any more, he still treats the town and the people in it as people he needs to take care of.

(I'd done some research, incidentally, on the town murder rate. It had dropped dramatically since Buffy came to town – but there had also been a drop when Keith Mars had been elected Sheriff. Not nearly as large of one, but statistically significant. It had gone back up by the same amount when Don Lamb took over.)

"If you get any hints otherwise –"

"I'll tell you. Or report him myself, depending on the situation."

"Don't put yourself in any danger, sweetie."

I said, "You know me."

"And that's why I'm reminding you."

I gave him a mock glare and headed to my room.

I could find nothing about Billy Fordham at the Hemery High website since the school year began -- and he'd been actively involved in half a dozen things the previous year. (They had an online yearbook, and their school paper was also online.) Absence of evidence, as they say, is not evidence of absence. This was a good start but wouldn't convince Buffy.

Information about the vampire-loving club, though, I couldn't trace using traditional methods.I had to use what I remembered from the episode, and go from there. It took me a couple of tries to get the name right. The Twilight Club? The Sundown Club?

The Sunset Club. That had to be the right name. (I'd be embarrassed as hell if it were a swing-club for senior citizens, though, in Sunnydale? Vampire buffet.) The address and phone number were in the phone book.

I ducked out of lunch early and headed for the library, narrowly avoiding Snyder along the way.

In avoiding Snyder, though, I wound up face to face with Logan. Which, let's face it, is still the frying pan compared to the fire, but either way, there was a chance of winding up burned.

"Mars," he said.

I raised my eyebrows. "You remember my name. Impressive."

"I've impressed Veronica Mars," he said. "Now my day is complete."

"Either you've had a busy few hours or your standards are low."

"Today it's low standards," Logan said. "I like to mix things up. You know, to keep things interesting."

"Ah. Another piece in the puzzle that is Logan Echolls."

He stepped closer to me. "We need to talk," he said.

"I thought that's what we were doing -- Logan! You've gone and developed mental telepathy, haven't you? I only _think_ you're talking to me."

"Would that that were the case," he said with only mild annoyance. "No. This concerns the secret we share -- you, me, and Kelly."

That changed my mood in a hurry. "You don't want to do something about it, do you?"

"I leave the hero complexes to the heroes," he said.

I needed to get to the library. "Can we meet after school?"

"Sure. Parking lot. My car or yours?" 

"Yours," I said. "My car kind of blends in. Your Tracker can be seen from orbit."

"It does have a hard time remaining inconspicuous, true," he said. "And bring Kelly. This concerns her too."

"I'm her friend, Logan, not her keeper."

Logan snorted. "Friend you may be, but I think she stays within a hundred feet of you of all times. It's like a reverse order of protection." He gave a mock salute and left.

I hurried on to the library.

Angel and Mr. Giles were both there. As I began to push open the door, I heard Angel say " . . . let her know I was here."

"It goes against the grain of our relationship," Giles said. "But as long as it does her no harm, I will refrain from telling her you were here." I finished opening the door. "And as for the rest, I shall remove myself from temptation by removing myself from the room." He nodded at me. "Miss Mars," he said, and disappeared into his office.

Angel came up to me. "What did you find?"

I told him everything I'd discovered about Billy Fordham, and about the Sunset Club. "This is the address," I said, handing him a sheet of paper.

"So I was right to be concerned," he said, as if confirming it for himself.

"I wouldn't call in the Air National Guard just yet," I said. "But he's almost certainly lying about the transfer. If I had to say anything, I'd say he dropped out of Hemery, though I couldn't tell you why.

If you want to check the school records, you'll need someone with more computer skills than I have -- no. Wait." I was being theatrical. I'd planned this all along, and I couldn't have made this call last night. "We need to use the library phone."

Angel went into the office. Thirty seconds later, a mildly disgruntled Giles came out saying, "If Snyder catches you, you snuck in while I was using the facilities."

"I'm shocked, shocked, to learn there is gambling going on here." My knowledge of classic cinema didn't impress him. He left the room.

That gave us about five minutes, and I didn't intend to waste any of them.

I took his office phone and called information, getting the number of the Hemery High main office. I then dialed that number and held the phone so that Angel could hear. "Hello?" I said. "Yes. This is Marsha Wingate, the secretary to Principal J. Wilhelm Snyder down here at Sunnydale High, and we were wondering about a student of yours who's transferred here. When are we going to receive his transcripts?"

The voice on the other end said, "Hold on a moment." Two minutes later she came back and said, "Sorry, Mrs. Wingate. We have no records of any of our students transferring to your school." After a second she added, "What is this student's name?"

"William Fordham."

She didn't hesitate. "Oh, no. Mr. Fordham's still registered here. He just hasn't been coming to classes for a couple of weeks." 

"Really. Didn't you call in the truant officers?"

"We did. But his parents said that he was sick."

"Thank you," I said.

"Are you going to need those records?" the woman from Hemery High said. I told her no, we exchanged a few pleasantries, and I hung up. "Good enough?"

"Good enough," Angel said, reaching for his pocket. He pulled out a roll of '20s and handed me ten of them. "Thank you."

I gave him the paper with the address of The Sunset Club and said, "Anything else?"

"I think I can take it from here," he said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." To make sure he didn't have to invent some reason to stay in the library, I said, "I have to get going. Class is about to start."

I left, thinking and hoping that everything else from _Lie to Me_ would go more or less according to canon.

X X X X X

After school, Sheila and I met Logan at his car. "What is it?" Sheila asked.

"You said it wasn't a desire to play hero," I said.

"Right," Logan said. "Not that I wouldn't want to rush in if I saw someone being attacked by lunatics with funny faces. But I'd know that that would probably end up with me and them dead. I occasionally have quixotic instincts but I haven't yet reached the point where I'm actually attacking windmills."

"Though you've got a pretty good Rosinante," Sheila said, tapping the Tracker. At Logan's look of bewilderment, she said, "Told you. I read."

"_Don Quixote_?" Logan asked.

"The longer the book, the better," Sheila said quietly. "So. What about the whole thing's buggin' you?"

Logan said, "Everywhere I look, I'm seeing magic or vampires. That guy in the bad '80s get-up -- fashion disaster or vampire? Joe Miller looked hairy in gym; could he be some kind of werewolf? Is my father's success natural, or the result of some kind of spell?"

"No one ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American people," I said, quoting H. L. Mencken.

"You get my meaning," Logan said. "It's not like I'm panicking and jumping at shadows. But it occurs: Perhaps, if I knew more, I would be able to understand more, and wonder less."

"So you what? Want to set up a study group?"

After a period of silence, Logan said, "Well, I wouldn't want to call it that . . ."


	25. Seeing Purple

Disclaimer: Rob owns the VM characters, Joss the Buffy characters, me the plot and this expansion of who "Sheila Kelly" could have been.

X X X X X

"Knowledge is power?" I asked.

"Everything I learned, I learned from Schoolhouse Rock," Logan said. "Again, and I can't stress this enough: I have no interest in making us into a well-oiled strike force to take out the bad guys. But if this is the world I'm forced to live in, it's probably a good idea for me to know as much about it as I can."

"Hmmm." I couldn't tell him no; knowing Logan, he'd go learn about it on the streets, and just like with a lot of things that would be a really bad idea. "That's not a bad idea. Means we're going to have to be seen together in public."

"Of the many things about you that bug me, Mars, that has never been one of them," Logan said.

Sheila said, "He's in, I'm in."

I was frantically trying to come up with a syllabus in my head – one that didn't involve a lot of field trips. The only genuinely friendly demon I could think of who'd ever lived in Sunnydale was Clem, and I didn't think he was around yet.

That meant book reading, which meant another trip to the magic store. Ms. Mistwood – Rae – should probably be willing to help me come up with a "monsters and magic 101" course.

"Okay, then," I said. "Either of you have anything better to do right now?"

Logan said, "Nothing that can't wait."

"Got dinner at the Rockefellers at 7," Sheila said. "'til then, free as air, manhunter. What you have in mind?"

"Our one, and probably only, field trip," I said. "Follow me, Logan."

"I'm riding with you," Sheila said.

Logan rolled his eyes and said, "There was no doubt about that. I lack the time to give my Tracker a full antibacterial scrub inside and out."

Sheila bristled, but then relaxed and said, "Any germs you got, I can handle. Just surprised you're being so public about it."

As I tried to refrain from laughing, Logan frowned and said, "Let's get going."

Once Sheila and I got to my LeBaron, I stopped holding it in. "That was good," I said.

"I like having a rep for being a fucking psycho bitch," Sheila said. "But I'm a fucking psycho bitch who _bathes_."

I laughed again.

Along the way to the magic store, I asked Sheila, "Long books?"

"Don Quixote. The Complete Works of Shakespeare. Battlefield Earth, even though that one sucked. The longer, the better."

"Why?"

A vulnerable look flashed across her face for a second. "'spersonal, manhunter," she said. "But if you come across any long books, let me know. Gotta be fiction." Whatever it was, she didn't feel comfortable telling me.

So I'd let it go. Not everything is my business. Almost, but not quite. "I've got a complete Sherlock Holmes in two volumes," I said. "Interested?"

"You know it," she said with a grin.

"How's your new improved life going?"

"Some of my old acquaintances are ticked at me for not going out drinking with them the way I used to. Fuck 'em. Some of my teachers're surprised that I'm pulling in half-decent grades now."

"If you want them any better --"

"I'm getting B's and they're thinking I'm cheating, manhunter," she said. "I start bringing in A's and they'll call in my mom. 'snot like she'll be sober enough to answer the phone, but I'd rather not go through the hassle." We were at the magic store. She looked it up and down, clearly not impressed. "This it?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's what's on the inside that counts?"

Logan pulled up behind me and everyone got out. If anything, he was less impressed than Sheila was.

I opened the store's front door. "Miss Mars," Rae said. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm running a bit low on holy water," I said, "And my friends here could do with a vial or two. They've recently become aware of the . . . other denizens of our fair city and they'd like to learn something about them."

"I don't encourage vigilantism," Rae said as they headed back towards the holy water. "Not among those who aren't suited for it."

"I have no plans to imitate Charles Bronson at anything other than a costume party," Logan said.

As for Sheila, she shrugged. "Something attacks me, I fight back. Might be good to know how to, if I have to -- or when to run. What I've heard this stuff --" she held up a container of holy water -- "works pretty much only on vampires."

"Not just them," Rae said. "But true, most of the time if you throw holy water at something nonhuman all it's going to get is wet. If you're lucky, you'll get a shard of glass in their eye, but that's about it."

"So what do you have around here in the way of Monster Recognition 101?" I asked.

"Hmmm," she said. "Are you looking for something massive?"

"I'm thinking something that won't cause people to point when we take it out in public," I said. "That means no books that look like they five two pounds, were bound in dragon hide, or might fall apart if looked at funny. Anything in an ordinary paperback?"

"It's not exactly a fertile publishing field," she said. "Still, I'll root around. In the meantime, I can get you a guide to lycanthropes."

"That'll do for a start," I said. "Wait -- is there more than one type of were-critter?"

"The werewolves get all the press," Rae said. "But yes. Not as many as Laurell K. Hamilton would have you believe, but any carnivorous mammal can be a template." She handed me the book. "I'll see what else I can find. In the meantime."

I stepped a bit closer. "Do you have that crystal? The one that tests for magic potential?"

"Yes." 

"Could I borrow it? I'd like to test a theory."

She went behind the counter and dug it out. "Here you go," she said, handing it to me. Then she disappeared towards the back of the store.

"So this shit's all real?" Sheila said.

"Try sticking your hand through it," Logan said, though his heart wasn't in it. "Lycanthropes?"

"Hey, a lot of that is news to me too," I said. "I knew about werewolves. The possibility of were-jaguarundis never crossed my mind." I handed Logan the crystal. "Hold this. I want to see something."

Logan shrugged and took it. Shortly afterward, to my astonishment, we could all see a faint glow -- less than Rae Mistwood had generated, but definitely there.

Okay. So it wasn't being transferred from my original timeline to this one that had made me magic-null. And I still couldn't see it being a gift.

Hmmm. I might have to ask The Adversary the next time we talked, after all. Not that I was looking forward to that. But it was either that or let the mystery stay unanswered.

And me letting a mystery stay unsolved? About as likely as me growing wings and flying to the moon.

"What does that mean?" Logan asked.

"I'll tell you in a second," I said. "Sheila?"

Sheila took the purple quartz. A few seconds later, it began to glow fairly brightly -- much more than when Rae Mistwood had held it.

"'scool," she said, giving it to me. "What does it mean?"

"It's an indication of how much magic potential you have," a balding man said, walking in to the shop. "From the lack of a glow, you would be Miss Mars."

"I would be," I said. "How would --"

"My partner told me about you," he said. "A lack of talent like that is rare, believe me." HE turned to Logan. "You, young man -- you don't have much."

"I never saw myself as the next Gandalf anyway," Logan said. The man looked familiar --

Shit. Of course. The shopkeeper Drusilla had killed during _Passion_ hadn't been a woman in her mid-20's, it had been this guy. He and Rae must be partners.

With any luck, his non-death would be another way I could improve things.

"But you -- you, young lady, have the potential to be a witch, if you want to. And a fairly powerful one."

"Really?" Sheila asked.

"I wouldn't lie."

Sheila said, "Cool." Well. This was interesting. I suspected I'd have to add a Magic 101 to the curriculum, though I was the last person who should be teaching something like that.

"This isn't just some scam?" Logan asked suspiciously.

"No. Oh, I admit, much of the material in the store is crap to peddle to the tourists. I'm taking it that the three of you aren't tourists any more."

"Call us informed tourists," I said. "Who want to know more about where we're visiting -- but don't necessarily want to live there." Then, "I've been in here a few times," I said. "I don't remember seeing you."

"I've been on a number of business trips, It's not like you can order mummy hands through the Sears Catalog," he said.

"Depends," Logan said. "Have you seen some of the models?"

The man laughed. "Good point. Ah. Rae- Raven."

I turned. Rae Mistwood had returned from the bowels of the store. "Save it, Piotr," she said. "They know my real name."

"I'm not really even Piotr," he said. "But Piotr Pulaskovic sounds better than Pete Pulaski."

"So you're co-owners?" I asked.

"Yes. We met at a store in Los Angeles, realized we were both from Sunnydale, and wondered why we had to travel two hours to get decent supplies. We realized we'd found a niche and, six months later, opened up this place."

"Any luck coming up with any other books?" I asked.

"A book about vampires that's mostly accurate," she said. "Beyond that, not much. Give me a few weeks I'll see what Pete and I can track down."

"That's good enough for a start," I said. "Vampires, lycanthropes -- and toss in a book for beginning witches -- one that actually teaches something. If Sheila wants to learn about witchcraft I don't want her doing it on the streets."

"Understandable," Rae said, and went over and got a book. "This should do for the moment." I gave it the evil eye. "I know, it's the same thing you could buy at any Borders," she said. "But nothing in it will work unless the person actually has power."

I handed the book to Sheila. "Okay, then," I said. "How much --"

"I've got it," Logan said. At my look of puzzlement, he added, "My idea, Mars. I'm not going to make you foot the bill. And I'll even pay for Kelly's book."

"Don't do me any favors, Echolls," Sheila said. "I can pay my own way."

"Your clothing would argue otherwise."

She glared at him, but stepped up to the counter, paid for the book on witchcraft, and after saying our goodbyes, we all left.

"So," Logan said. "Interesting people." He seemed to mean it.

""They are," I said. "I have somewhere I have to be for the next couple of nights. Any plans for the weekend?"

"Naaah. Guy I was supposed to meet up with, but this sounds more fun."

"The Echolls manse should be unoccupied," Logan said. "Daddy Dearest is headed to LA for an awards show and, lucky Mom, she gets to be towed along to look pretty. And in the moment I'm not in much of a partying mood. You never know who you might be inviting in."

True, that.

I dropped Sheila off at her house with stern instructions to _read _the book, nothing else, but she said, "Don't worry, manhunter. I'm just curious, that's all. 'sides, it gives me something else to read."

"I'll bring the Sherlock Holmes books in tomorrow."

She smiled, and left.

Okay. Weird day. Logan's not magic-null; Sheila could be a witch; and on top of everything else, I have to try and stop Pete Pulaski from getting killed.

All of which hinged on _What's My Line_ and _Surprise/Innocence_, which were still well in the future.

In the meantime, _Lie to Me_ was still in progress. I needed to be sure Angel was following canon from here on out when it came to the Sunset Club. No, I hadn't investigated the place, but if Angel asked how I figured out Billy Fordham's connection, I'd simply have to shrug and say "I have my ways." I wasn't sure how Willow had made the connection; I couldn't, not with the resources as I had available. I couldn't even remember the name Ford's vampire-wannabe friend had used, much less his real one.

I looked at my watch. Best guess, I had a couple of hours to go home, do whatever homework I actually needed to do, talk with Dad, and get back in time to watch Angel, Xander and Willow do their thing.

And the saddest thing? Still, at times, less stressful than Neptune.


	26. Terms and Conditions

Disclaimer: Rob owns the VM characters, Joss the Buffy characters, me the plot and this expansion of who "Sheila Kelly" could have been.

X X X X X

Keeping an eye on Angel didn't take as much time as I'd been afraid it would. I hung across the street from the alley the Sunset Club was on (wearing a cross and holding my holy water pistol; Keith Mars raised no fools) and waited.

As sunset approached, I saw a few vampire wannabes walk into the alley -- dressed so garishly that Anne Rice would have laughed. Then the one who really mattered in the future of the Buffyverse:

Chantarelle, aka -- dammit -- Lilly, aka Anne Steele.

If Buffy doesn't run away to Los Angeles, she doesn't save Anne, or shut down the entry to that pocket hell dimension. Not only does Anne not do the good she'd do with that homeless shelter, the hell dimension would keep kidnapping kids and working them to death.

Buffy would only run away if Angel was dead.

That didn't mean Buffy wouldn't go to Los Angeles only if Angel was dead. Maybe Buffy would go to LA to visit her father anyway. Hank Summers didn't finish becoming an asshole until later in the series.

If I had to directly tell someone about the hell dimension, I would, even if I had to wait until right around the time season three started to avoid any potential trouble with the Adversary. It would be clumsy, but I wasn't necessarily counting on keeping my cover that long anyway.

It was Anne I was more worried about under those circumstances. I didn't think I could guarantee her exact future.

I'd have to leave that for the moment. I didn't plan on sacrificing anyone if I could help it, but I might not be able to.

It's hard to play God when one has only a limited kind of omniscience and no omnipotence to speak of. I didn't need a lousy Jim Carrey movie to tell me that. (Don't worry, by the way. I'm using God as a metaphor only. I'm neither insane nor egotistical.)

Of course, possibly that was The Adversary's point.

Not long after sundown, Angel entered the alley, followed closely by Willow and Xander. I only overheard a fragment of their conversation.

". . . could have asked me," Willow said.

"I almost did," Angel said. "But I didn't want to get you in trouble with Buffy if she found out you'd been helping me check up on her 'old friend.'" Yes, I could hear the quotation marks.

"And this is not checking up how?" Xander asked.

"I dragged you into it," Angel said. "You believed Buffy but I forced you into it using my evil vampire ways."

"Oooh. I like that," Xander said.

Angel's response was too indistinct for me to make out. But it didn't matter. They were here, the Sunset Club wasn't far away, and I was getting my short blonde self back inside as soon as humanly possible.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

"And what have you been doing with yourself tonight?" Dad asked when I walked in.

"Oh, the usual. Pimping myself out on street corners, hustling a little smack on the side. 'sall good."

"As long as I get my cut, sweetie," he said. "What are those books?" He took a closer look. Sheila had the magic book with her but I had the ones on werewolves and vampires. "Halloween was a few weeks ago," he said.

"So that's why I got the funny looks when I wore the clown costume this morning," I said. "Relax. It's research. Sheila's actually thinking of writing a book and asked me to look a few things up for her."

"Sheila?" Dad said. I nodded. "Sheila _Kelly_?" just in case there were any other Sheilas wandering around I'd forgotten to tell him about.

"Yes, Sheila Kelly. Is that hard to believe?"

"Not that I'm passing judgment on your taste in friends, but isn't this the same Sheila Kelly who's been in the Sheriff's office off and on since she turned 13?" Sheila had done some time in juvy for a couple of bouts of drunk and disorderly, so Dad's concern was not exactly misplaced. Still.

"Same one," I admitted. "But she's turned herself around recently. No drugs, no booze, fewer guys, and she's actually putting forth an effort in school." She still terrorized the teachers, but it was through attitude only. I wouldn't have put it past her to put Snyder through a wall, but I think everyone in the building wanted to do that.

And quite a few people out of the building.

And probably anyone who'd ever met him.

Including his mother.

Assuming he hadn't somehow spontaneously generated from a pile of garbage.

Did I mention I didn't like the man?

I think that was _de rigueur_ for living in Sunnydale.

My contrast, my memories of Vice (and then drop the vice) Principal Clemmons were warm and fuzzy.

So, the principal, the mayor (who admittedly hadn't made an appearance yet), and the sheriff. One might well wondered if I liked _any_ authority figures.

Yup.

Keith Mars.

That's the important one.

Anyway.

Dad said reprovingly, "Sweetie --"

Interrupting him, I said, "Dad. I know, as Sheriff, you've seen a lot of criminals. Are you telling me none of them ever reformed? Ever figured out they were on the wrong track?"

"It's not common," he said. "Especially when there's no outside catalyst."

"So that's what you're looking for," I said. "Done and done. A few nights before that gang on crystal meth invaded the school, Sheila was almost mugged when she was drunk. The two guys she was with took off, and if someone else hadn't happened by and run the muggers off -- well, she saw what could have happened, and she didn't like it."

"And you're friends with her because . . ."

"We bonded during that whole forced volunteerism thing, where Snyder made Buffy and Sheila and I decorate the student lounge. Hey, as Buffy says: We outcasts have to stick together."

Dad nodded. "Fair enough. Just be careful."

"Hey, that's my middle name."

"That's not what it says on your birth certificate."

"I went out and had it changed while you weren't looking."

"Ah. Well, glad we got that cleared up."

"Anytime."

X X X X X

The Adversary was true to his word. Give that to the bastard, at least. That night, as I dreamt, he simply approached me himself. Lilly's shade was nowhere in sight.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I was going to answer your question."

"Good. So, tell me, what is the meaning of life?"

"A Monty Python movie," he said. "No, I meant why you have no magic."

"I assumed it was just to screw with me," I said.

He actually sounded offended. "Miss Mars," he said. "I would never do that."

"And what do you call my tour through _Buffy_ season 2?" I demanded. "Showing a girl a good time?"

"Miss Mars, 'screwing with you' implies the mentality of a childish practical joker. I assure you. There is nothing childish about what I'm doing."

"The old I/You/He game," I said. "I am manipulating people for a higher end. You are Machiavellian. He likes screwing with people's heads."

"If you choose to see it that way," he said, "I can't stop you. But that isn't the point of this visit. You have no magic because that would have been outside the scope of our agreement. If you could figure out what spells to cast to fix things, then you would not be acting like Veronica Mars, but like a denizen of this universe. You said that with your knowledge of the future of this universe's future you could change things for the better. You did not say 'with your knowledge of the future and a couple of really cool spellbooks.'"

"And my immunity?"

"Came with the inability to cast spells," he said. "I want you to survive long enough to actually test our wager. I have no interest in winning by default."

"How sporting," I said sarcastically.

"I _always_ live up to my end," the Adversary said. "I do not cheat, I do not lie, and I do not change the rules in the middle of the game." He paused, then added, "I do want you to know something else, though. You've been wondering lately whether there was a definite end to the game. The answer to that is yes. The end comes when you make a choice."

"I assume figuring out what that choice is is up to me?"

"You'll recognize it when you have to make it," he said. "I can assure you of that. What happens afterwards is entirely up to you."

I woke up shortly afterwards.

Oh boy.

Sounds like there's fun-aplenty comin'.

X X X X X

Sheila buttonholed me almost the second I got into the school. "'scool book," she said. "Don't know if I'll be able to pull it off, though."

"Why?" I asked, keeping my tone carefully neutral.

"It involves a lot of meditation and getting calm," she said. "Think about it, manhunter. I'm about as calm and peaceful as a rabid weasel on a Jolt Cola kick. I'm never going to be able to learn how to meditate."

"Do you want to try?" I asked.

"Some of it sounds like it might be fun," she said. "Long as I don't get too crazy with it or anything. But calming myself down, that's the problem."

"Maybe Pete or Rae can put you in touch with someone experienced," I said. "If you're really interested."

"I'll give it some thought. You have the Sherlock Holmes books?" I handed them to her. "Thanks. When're we going to start the class?"

"This weekend, probably."

"'sgood. Thanks."

If I remembered correctly, last night in Lie to Me was pretty busy. Angel, Willow, and Xander went to the Sunset Club, Ford was caught lying when he said he killed a vampire, the vampire stole something from the library, and Angel and Buffy had a discussion at her house.

I rounded a corner to head up some stairs after talking to Sheila and ran smack into another scene. Buffy was talking to Willow and Xander. Willow, looking guilty, said, "When Angel came to us he was really concerned about you, and we didn't want to say anything in case we were wrong."

"Did you find out what Ford is up to?" Xander asked.

"I will," Buffy said as she turned around. Once she saw me, her face twisted a bit. "Veronica," she said. "Walk and talk?"

The tone was perky, but from the way she grabbed my arm I got the feeling it was a choice between walk and talk or walk and be dragged. Since being dragged would only give people another reason to laugh and point as I walked by, I chose to walk. (Don't get me wrong. The laughing and pointing, figurative for the most part but occasionally literal, doesn't actually bother me. But it does kind of inhibit my ability to spread fear when I'm trying to do an investigation.)

We stopped in front of my "office." "Hold on," I said, checking inside the women's room. It was empty, so I put the "Out of Order" sign on in and told Buffy to follow me inside. "Yes?" I asked.

"Angel hired you." It wasn't a question, so I didn't say anything. "Right?"

"If he did," I said, and of course she knew I did, there was no way she would have known if he hadn't told her, "That's between me and him."

"He told me he did."

"Then why are you asking me?" I said. "If he told you, he told you why, and what, and who. He paid me; and it turned out he had reason to be suspicious. So what's the problem?"

A pause, then, "I don't know. I thought there was something about we short blonde outcasts sticking together."

"This is sticking together," I said. "If he'd hired me to investigate _you_, I would have told him to bug off. I like you, Buffy. You're one of the few people around here who hasn't treated me like crap. And believe you me, with everyone else acting like I'm something for them to spit into, that's greatly appreciated. But he didn't. This isn't a betrayal. This is what I do. I'm sorry if it hurt you, believe me."

"I -- damn. I guess I do. It's just that it seems like ever since my friend came to town, everyone's been running around behind my back trying to protect me. I can take care of myself."

"Charter member of the 'I can take care of myself' club here. Trust me, I understand. But here's the thing. If Angel hadn't hired me? I wouldn't have done a damn thing about Billy Fordham. I believe you can protect yourself. I saw some of the things you did back when that gang invaded the school. This was a job. Nothing more, nothing less."

"-- okay."

"Still. I'm taking from what I found out and what I overheard that in fact not all is kosher with young Billy?"

"No. It isn't," she said.

"There you go, then. I don't know what his deal is, apart from lying about transferring from your old high school, and now that I'm off the clock I don't care, except in so far as you want to tell me. Which can be nothing. I'm cool with that." Which would be a lot more noble, of course, if I actually _didn't_ know what was going on. As it was, I was being pretty damn cynical. Still, as far as I could, I meant it.

"Maybe, when it's done, I'll tell you."

"Your call," I said, knowing that she couldn't come close to telling me the actual truth. "Anyway, shall we? Just because this is the girls' room doesn't mean Snyder won't stick his head in here if the thinks we're up to no good."

Buffy half-smiled and said, "When are we not?"

And on to class.


	27. The Harsh Night and Day

Logan, for his part, was still fine with our class being over the weekend. "Actually," he said. "Knowing that I'm going to know about it has relieved my mild anxiety. I was going to look on the internet –"

"Bad idea," I said. "It would be like looking up medical symptoms. Sure, that cough and icky feeling is probably a cold, but my god, here's lesser Monrovian striped fever, and that's fatal to everyone born on the west coast of the United States, oh my god, I'm going to die."

"Sledgehammer not necessary, Mars," Logan said.

"Fair enough. Just saying that if you do look, be skeptical."

And with that, we went our merry way.

Making sure about the rest of Lie to Me was a bit thornier. Originally, I'd been content to let it run its course, but my presence still might actually change things. God knows I didn't want to be anywhere around when Spike, Drusilla and company wandered by. They might decide to have an appetizer before their evening meals, and Keith Mars did not raise me to be anyone's hors-d'oeuvre.

If I remembered correctly, Buffy was supposed to meet Billy Fordham at the school at 9 o'clock.

Wait.

She hadn't.

She'd shown up at the Sunset club before the sun even went down. Then she'd gotten trapped in there with the idiot vampire wannabes, and Spike had started wandering over shortly after sunset.

During lunch, I went to the journalism office. "Veronica," Duncan said, frowning slightly. "Were you supposed to come –"

"No," I said. "I just wanted to check something up. We have today's paper?" He gave me a look. "Today's non-school paper?" I amended.

"Right there."

"Just wanted to check something." I found the weather section, and down at the bottom: sunset, 6:27 PM. As I put the paper down, Duncan said, "Are you busy?"

"Depends," I said. "What do you need?" I knew it wasn't going to be anything personal. Not yet, anyway. This version of Duncan seemed slightly more stable than the one from the first half of my junior year – maybe Celeste wasn't drugging him into a stupor, or at least as much of one – but he and I still weren't friends.

"Remember the confrontation we had?"

Point of fact, we'd had a couple of confrontations – there had even been a Buffyverse equivalent of "You stand idly by –" but none of those were things he'd need to bring up again. "Of course," I said.

"There's something we kind of left unfinished."

Shit. Yes, there was. We'd said we were going to set up a DNA test, and then never did. "Duncan, I'm sorry –"

"Don't be," he said. "I can understand how my piece of mind wouldn't be your top priority." I couldn't tell if he was being bitter or remarkably tolerant. Hell, he probably didn't know either. I decided to be charitable, though he was certainly entitled to the bitterness.

"It is now," I said. "Still, we're both underage --"

"Money might not be able to buy happiness, Veronica, but it can buy the silence of a doctor and a DNA lab. I can arrange an appointment to have the blood drawn whenever it's good for you."

It couldn't be today. It couldn't be the weekend.

That left tomorrow. When I suggested it, Duncan said, "Fine. I'll meet you after school."

"Duncan," I said. "I really am sorry; I know you want to get this put behind you." The problem, of course, was that I already knew I wasn't Duncan's sister, and so the issue had, stupidly, slipped my mind.

There are times when I may not be the most sensitive person on the planet. Unfortunately, this falls under the heading of Not News.

"Assuming we can," he said.

"We will. I'm sure of it."

Duncan sighed. "I wish I had your confidence."

To assuage my guilt feelings, I spent the rest of lunch doing some proofreading. When the bell rang, I left.

The rest of the day went fairly smoothly. There was a pop quiz in algebra that, even without having so much as opened the algebra textbook in the last week and a half, I got 19 out of 20 on.

I caught Willow surreptitiously looking at my paper when it was handed back, and struggling to suppress a smirk. "Let me guess," I said. "Perfect?"

"Plus extra credit," she said smugly. I let her have her moment. At this point, Willow's ego was built around two, maybe three, things: her faith in her intelligence, her hacking ability, and her friendships with Xander and Buffy. Within a couple of weeks it would grow to encompass her relationship with a certain werewolf-to-be.

And that was something I wasn't touching -- Oz's becoming a werewolf. I might -- _might_ -- derail one Veruca when she showed up, assuming the bet wasn't over by then. But beyond that, Oz never killed anyone, never contaminated anyone, and only went unrestrainedly wolf a handful of times.

"Good for you," I said, and meant it. Her face fell a little. I guess she wanted me to feel bad that I hadn't outstripped her. "Relax, Willow. This isn't a competition."

"Darn tooting it isn't," Willow said, then said, "Wait. You meant that in the friendly, let's-all-hold-hands kind of way, right?" I nodded. Interesting metaphor, too. "Opening mouth and removing foot now."

"Like I said, relax. There's room enough in this school for two smart girls." A pause, then, "Besides, you're smarter than I am. I work my ass off to get these grades." Well, I had the first time through, anyway. "You could probably spend all night playing video games and drinking cheap whiskey and still come up with an A." I'd had my fun, but Willow needed her crutch, for the moment.

"Not that I'm actually going to experiment," she said, "But, thank you."

"You're welcome," I said.

After school, I headed for Dad's office. I found him standing in the lobby with his carry-on. "Oooh!" I said. "Are we going to Disneyworld?"

"Nope."

"Perth Amboy?"

"Wrong again."

"You finally figured out where Amelia DeLongpres is."

"I knew if I gave you three tries, you'd get it."

"Naah. I knew it right away. I just thought I'd make things a little more suspenseful."

"Tell yourself that if you like, sweetie," he said. "So, I was just waiting for you to get here from school. I," he said, "Am off to Las Vegas."

I mock-frowned. "For a night of booze, gambling, and prostitutes?"

"Only afterwards," he said. "That's where Amelia DeLongpres is going to college." Hmmm. I don't think that's where she was back in Neptune. That hooker Abel Koontz had used had been there, but she hadn't.

Well, other things weren't the same between universes, either. Jake Kane had no longer invented streaming video, but the most popular anti-virus program in the world. Aaron Echolls had made different movies, and won one fewer major award. Amelia DeLongpres was in college. That was the important thing.

After Dad left, I did a little routine office work, took a few calls, dealt with a disappointed would-be patron or two, but in the end they'd have no choice but to come back if they needed PI work done in Sunnydale. One of the few blessings of the Buffyverse: The Adversary had declined to bring along Vinnie Van Lowe, Neptune's answer to a question nobody asked. And no one else had taken his place as possible rival, either.

I like to think even the Adversary couldn't stand Vinnie. All gods everywhere knew I couldn't.

Okay, so my difficulty here was going to be staking out an area to make sure a whole lot of vampires walked past it not long after sunset. Even given that I'd be perched in my LeBaron with the motor running, it was a risk. One, and more trivially, Buffy might see me. Two, Spike might see me, before I see him. I wasn't sure he'd recognize me, but I wasn't about to take the risk.

I wonder if his face had healed yet.

Still, I needed to be sure everything turned out okay. Given vampires and cameras --

No. Wait. Halloween. The opening segment, if I remember, had Spike videotaping Buffy fighting a couple of lesser vampires somewhere that sold pumpkins. If that vampire could be videotaped, others could.

The traditional explanation I'd heard involved mirrors and how they were used in regular cameras and not in video cameras -- and certainly not in digital cameras, which were as yet a bit pricy for routine use.

At least, too pricy for Mars Investigations.

Still, that wasn't a problem. If Spike could see a vampire on a video camera, so could I. I didn't need to record anything; in fact, it would probably be a bad idea for me to save anything to tape that I didn't mind answering questions about later.

Aaron Echolls would find that out soon enough. (I hoped.)

In the meantime, I didn't have a whole lot of lead time. Spike and company had left at sunset, but that was only an hour or so away, and wherever Spike was in fairly easy walking distance of the Sunset Club, so I needed to be out of the vicinity by 6:27 PM at the absolute latest.

I quickly attached the best transmitter we had -- I had to be within a range of a few blocks, but that would still be well out of sight of the approaching vampires. I set the whole thing up to show on the laptop computer -- clunkier than the ones I remembered -- Dad had had someone wire up to use as a remote view screen. Then I took off.

There was the alley leading to the Sunset Club. Across the street, there were some trees and bushes -- not a fully developed woods or anything, but good enough for my purposes. I spent a few minutes toggling with it, made sure the transmitter was broadcasting to the laptop, and drove a couple of blocks away to a more mainstream retail area that I'm reasonably sure Spike and the Spikettes wouldn't have wandered through along the way. I got myself a soda from a nearby convenience store and waited.

No one noticed me. No one noticed anything. This is Sunnydale, remember?

Members of the Sunset Club started trickling in within a few minutes. The only ones I recognized were the dude in the cape -- his name still escaped me -- and Chanterelle. The last one to go in, about 6-7 minutes before sundown, was Billy Fordham himself.

A couple of minutes after that, Buffy followed him in.

So far, so good.

I'd just finished the soda, about eight minutes after actual sundown, when Spike and Drusilla wandered by the camera, followed by a handful of other vampires. Whatever burns Sheila and I had inflicted seemed to have healed.

Ah well. I'd doubted the scars would be permanent, anyway.

A few more minutes just to be sure.

And here came the members of the Sunset Club, passing Xander, Willow and Angel. The former vampire-worshippers were disappointed and confused. I couldn't say I blamed them. I supposed it would be the equivalent of having Jesus come down to Earth and tell Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson "all religions are equal. The only people sent to Hell are narrow-minded bastards like you."

Decision time.

I drove back to the alleyway, got my camera out of the bushes, and drove away before Buffy or her friends could see me.

And there she was, a block or so away. Chanterelle. I pulled the car to a stop. "Need any help?" I asked.

"No. Go away," she said.

"Look. It's dangerous in Sunnydale at night."

"And maybe you're one of the dangerous things," Chanterelle said.

"No," I said. "I'm not a vampire."

She looked at me. "How do you know about vampires?"

"I notice things," I said. "They're one of the things I notice."

She stopped. "What the hell," she said, and got in the car.

"I'm Veronica," I said. "What's your name?"

"Ch -- no."

"No?"

"I was going to tell you my name was Chanterelle. But it isn't. Chanterelle is what I called myself when I thought I would thrive in the harsh night. No. That's not me anymore. I'll bloom in the daylight. So you can call me Lily."

Okay. I had aka Lily in my car.

Now what?


	28. Compassion

I thought. I'd picked up aka Lily out of some vague notion that I could set her on her path, somehow; that I could make sure she was who she needed to be, without having her have to go through hell and its attendant dimensions in LA.

Now that I had her, though, I wasn't sure how to do that. I wasn't sure she had to end up running that shelter in order to end up doing something good; but the way I was planning things, Buffy wasn't going to be going to LA, at least not for the summer.

So even if I did manage to lure/trick/tell Buffy or Angel outright what was wrong in LA, and how to fix it, it was still possible that aka Lily might end up dead.

Of course, I could solve all of this by giving up on the idea of preventing Angelus from coming out. At this point I was juggling more things to do than I could reasonably catch. Still, I'm nothing if not stubborn. I wasn't giving up this easy.

I asked the pro forma question, "Is there anywhere I can drop you?"

She shook her head nervously. "No. I was expecting life to get better not long after I got here, so I cut ties to everything in my past. Unless you want to just take me to the bus station. I have money. I can go to LA."

You can. Should you? "So what were you doing with the vampires?"

She said, "I thought I was going to get eternal life. I thought they were misunderstood – the way they're portrayed in most books, you know, as being evil. The romance of all of it." She snorted. "I even called them 'the lonely ones.'"

"You know better now?"

"The stories are true," she said. "Not Anne Rice's or Laurell K. Hamilton's. There wasn't anything romantic about them. They were mean and tried to kill us and it wasn't like I expected at all." She seemed partly disillusioned, but partly caught up in how unfair it all was. As though the world should have rearranged itself to suit her romantic notions of what it had to be.

I have nothing wrong with romance. Every once in awhile, as Buffy noted, people surprise you, and in a good way. But that's not the way the world works. The world doesn't exist to make you happy, and it doesn't exist to make you sad. The world simply doesn't care. And that's no falser in this world, where the supernatural exists, than it is in my own, where its existence is debatable, the occasional sasquatch sighting aside.

It wasn't until the time she spent in "hell," and the death of her "true love," that aka Lily had finally given up the idea that the world was or should be beautiful. And it was then that she'd determined to do her best to make it a better place, by making sure that the homeless and rootless who'd been such easy targets for the "demons" had someone out there genuinely looking out for them.

I doubted I could convince her of that in a few hours. I doubted anyone could convince her of that in a few hours.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "The world isn't like that, unfortunately. There's a whole truckload of darkness out there. It's not a romantic place."

"Yes, it is," she said stubbornly. "It's out there, somewhere. All I have to do is find it."

"I suppose I could say 'No it isn't" again, but I doubt you'd believe me."

"I wouldn't," she said. "What happened to you to make you this way?"

"Life," I said.

X X X X X

Nonromantic that I am, though, I still couldn't let her go in the middle of the night. Not that she was eager to go. She wasn't exactly scared of the night, but she knew it wasn't her friend.

So I took her back to the apartment, told Backup everything was okay, and told her if she insisted on going, she could be on her way in the morning. I was reasonably sure she wouldn't rifle through what we had and run off, for three reasons. One, she'd never seemed like a thief. Two, as the saying goes, you can't get blood from a turnip -- probably the reason there aren't any vegetarian vampires out there. And three, Backup would be planting himself by the front door, and he was a hell of a watchdog. An unholy combination of Kitty Pryde and Marcie Ross couldn't have snuck by him, never mind a homeless, hopeless romantic.

There was nothing else I could do. I'm not a kidnapper and these notions she had were too deep-rooted for me to be able to argue her out of in one night. I made sure she got a good meal and we all went to bed.

The next morning, after getting her breakfast, I drove her to the bus station. I managed to cadge one thing out of her: A promise that she'd keep in touch.

"Why do you care?" she said.

Aside from the real reasons, all having to do with the Adversary, there was always what Angel said: "If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do." Which, although the meaning is crystal clear, actually makes no sense when you parse it out grammatically. I suppose what he should have said is, "If there is no ultimate purpose to life, no reward, no hereafter, then all that matters is what we accomplish while we're alive," which, while clearer, is a damn sight less pithy.

What do I know? I'm no scriptwriter.

So I said, "Just because I think the world isn't the nicest of places to live doesn't mean I want to make it worse. Look. If we live in a gutter, the last thing we should want to do is make it dirtier."

AKA Lily nodded. "I think I get where you're coming from."

"So you will keep in touch?"

"Yeah. If it's important to you, I will." She looked down at the card. "Mars Investigations?"

And then, a flash of inspiration. "Yes. I work with my Dad sometimes. So if you need an investigator for any reason --"

"I'll call you." She came forward and hugged me. "The world isn't such a mean place. Not when there are people like you in it."

Well, that wasn't exactly the attitude I'd hoped she'd leave town with, but I consoled myself with the notion that she would have been like this anyway. I told her goodbye, and headed off to school.

Buffy seemed kind of depressed all day; understandable, considering that in a couple of days she'd have to stake Billy Fordham. She did take the time to touch base with me, though, saying that if we outcasts were going to stick together, we might as well make a day of it.

"You're willing to be seen with me in public?" I asked.

She said, "Usually I'm the one asking that question."

"Did I steal your thunder?" I asked innocently. "Go ahead. Pretend I didn't say anything."

"Are you sure you want to be seen with me in public?" Buffy asked.

I mock-thought. "Well, you are supposed to be dangerous and my father always warned me to stay away from the criminal element."

"Not to sound too much like Cordelia, but please! You hang out with Sheila Kelly."

"Yeah, but she's kind of reformed right now. You? Not so much."

She glared. "Look who's talking."

I paused, and then said, "Have we run this joke as far as we can into the ground?"

She winced. Damn. I'd just reminded her of Ford's fate. She did her damnedest to cover it up, though, saying, "I don't think even as excavator could get it out now."

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She closed her eyes. "No. But you couldn't have known."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Buffy said. "No big. You couldn't have known."

But I did. And I should have known better. Not a big deal in the larger scheme of things, but still, I don't like causing pain.

Occasionally, I don't mind dealing some to the less deserving. But Buffy goes through enough shit; I don't need to be adding to it, even inadvertently.

"I'll tale your word for it," I said. "So, sometime next week?"

"Will do," she said.

I left it to her to determine the day. Hanging out for a day with Buffy could be kind of fun, even if she wasn't about to give away her secrets.

The day itself sped by, and soon it was time for Duncan and I to head off to his handpicked doctor for DNA testing.

We said, literally, nothing as I got into the car. If he was nervous, I could hardly blame him. I wasn't, of course, but I didn't think he'd appreciate my efforts to lighten the mood, considering that to him there was still a very real possibility that the two of us had committed unintentional incest.

I took the opportunity to call Dad; he told me he'd made contact with Amelia DeLongpres and that they were meeting later that night. I'd failed in my attempts to get the "bribe money" agreement from her. Not that Jake Kane would have been stupid enough to write out "In exchange for his confession to murdering my daughter, Abel Koontz's daughter will receive $250,000 dollars," but any kind of agreement between the two would have been suspicious.

Enough, Dad pointed out, to get reasonable doubt in a trial. But this wasn't a trial. The agreement in and of itself would not qualify as reversible error, even when paired with the tapes of Aaron having sex with Lilly. (Lilly Kane, not aka Lily, and doesn't it stink that I have to make distinctions like that?)

Of course, given that I was in the car with Duncan, who might still have thought, at this point, that he did it in one of his mentally unstable moments, my part of the conversation was as generic as possible. When I was done, Duncan said, "Your Dad's working on a case?"

"Yeah," I said. "We were hired--" lie -- "to try to overturn a conviction. Dad's off in the wilds of Nevada --" lie, or maybe truth, depending on your opinion of Vegas -- "Tracking down a possible witness."

"Ah."

And so silence returned to our little conveyance.

The blood was drawn swiftly and, with the assistance of a hefty wad of cash Duncan handed to the lab technician who drew it, secretly; we were told we'd have the results as soon as they could.

"Doesn't this normally take a while?" I asked.

"Mr. Kane," the lab technician told me frostily, "Will be moved to the top of the list."

Back to school; then, back home, to plan out my immediate future.

The next episode to deal with would be The Dark Age. (I was definitely interfering there. I might be able to save a life or two.)

Dad, with any luck, was about to get vital documents from Abel Koontz's daughter.

Buffy suggested we get together on Sunday.

And there were those DNA results. I wasn't worried about them, exactly, but they were still out there hanging fire.

And then there was the most important thing to deal with:

I had Monster Recognition 101 to teach tomorrow.

And I still hadn't even cracked the books.

I looked at them and sighed.

My work? Never done.

Never, ever done.


	29. Teacher's Pest

"So," I said the next morning. "I see we're all in our places with bright, shining faces."

We were sitting in the journalism office at Sunnydale High. Along the way it had occurred to me that something else had, apparently, changed in the Buffyverse: Duncan was the editor of the school paper. I didn't remember the student's name from Earshot – the one who thought that Oz's band stank and that school athletics were a waste of time – but it was not Duncan Kane.

Of course, there was a lot of time between now and then. A lot could happen.

Look what had happened back in Neptune. Someone else finished out senior year editing the Neptune Navigator.

The reason we were in this room, and not some other, is that it was the one room in the school I could justify being in on the weekend. I didn't want to do it at home, on the off chance Dad showed up, and, while the confirmed apathy of the average Sunnydale denizen towards anything remotely supernatural was legendary, I didn't want to take the risk that I might be teaching Logan and Sheila about wererats while a real wererat was passing by.

I would have taught at the magic store, but Pete was off on another trip, Rae was sick, and I didn't know the other employees there well enough to flaunt my supernatural knowledge in front of them.

Sheila and Logan both glared at me, though I suspect it was more because of my mock-sunny disposition than anything else. They'd both wanted to learn about the ghoulies and goblins and long-legged beasties, after all. Logan had a cup of coffee, Sheila the first volume of the Sherlock Holmes books I'd lent her. She was about halfway through, if the bookmark was right. Impressive. She not only read, she read quickly.

"I didn't hold a gun to your head and make you come," I said. "So. Let's try that again. Good morning, class."

Logan said, with fake enthusiasm, "Good morning, Miss Mars," and gave me a jaunty salute. Sheila just said. "Yeah. Important word there being morning."

"Why, Kelly," Logan said. "I thought you gave up drinking yourself into a stupor."

"I did," Sheila said. "'sit turns out, even without booze I'm still not a morning person."

For what it's worth, it was 9 AM. I hadn't dragged them from their beds in time to milk the cows. "There's this wonderful invention called coffee," I said.

Sheila's response was unprintable, but she straightened herself up. Energy drinks, if I remembered correctly, hadn't quite gone mainstream yet. I knew she'd been making it to school every morning on time. "I want to learn. Really. But I still like to sleep in on the weekends."

"Why didn't you say anything?" I said. "I'd've been happy to reschedule." It wasn't like this weekend was jam packed, anyway. A little bit of homework that didn't duplicate something I'd done on my first go-round, meeting with Buffy tomorrow; that was about it.

"'cause you seemed to want to get it out of the way."

"I'm the teacher; I'm not God on high. If you have a problem, tell me."

"I have a problem," Sheila said, grinning faintly.

"Too late," I said. "Anyway. Ready?"

"As we'll ever be, boss," Logan said chipperly.

I snorted and opened the vampire book, then proceeded to ignore it while I discussed them. Not that the book wasn't accurate; it was, though it tended a bit to the epic-fantasy mode of writing. It didn't romanticize vampires, but it did make out their hunters to be gods and goddesses in human form. There was even a chapter on the Slayer, discussing whether she was a fairy tale of the demon world, or whether she actually existed.

Still, no one would come away with that book with the same desires aka Lily had to become a vampire. In fact, while it did get it explicitly disclaimed Anne Rice (though not Laurell K. Hamilton; but then, by this point Laurell K. hadn't started writing 600 page PWPs yet, and I imagine the notion of vampires as sex gods might be appealing to some people).

Not me. Not even when I was watching Buffy. Neither Angel nor Spike had ever appealed to me. (In the male-female sense, I mean. Appeal "as characters" was something completely different.

It was more that I felt I could teach more from what I remembered of the show than I could from the book. The one thing the book had reminded me of was that vampires, while they didn't reflect, could in fact be photographed. It even had a couple of photos. Nothing that would convince a determined skeptic, but enough if you already had independent knowledge.

So we talked for about an hour. I described how vampires became vampires, the best ways to kill them if one absolutely had to (while always stressing that the best way to deal with a vampire was to, in the words of Willow Rosenberg, "Run. Flee. Maybe skedaddle."), and the best ways to drive one off.

"That explains your new necklace," Logan commented. "Somehow I didn't see you as getting religion."

"Still as skeptical towards the organized version as I've always been," I said. "There's something out there –" in the Buffyverse, anyway, though I still wasn't sure if there was some overarching prime mover – "But I'm not sure what. Anyway, this is kind of a last resort. And it's not a guaranteed out. Powerful or crazy vampires can force their way through the pain. So, if you don't have a cross, get one, and if you see a vampire, shove the cross in its face and get lost before it can overcome its initial reaction."

"Maybe I should tattoo my entire body with crosses," Sheila said.

My eyebrows rose. Tattoos had never occurred to me. They'd apparently never occurred to anyone in the Buffyverse, either. Knowing the totality of fanfiction, it probably already existed there. Still – "Remember, a cross will only repel vampires. It'd be a waste of time to cover your entire body."

"Maybe just my fists, then."

"The neck would probably be better," I said. Fists implied confrontation.

"So, both," Sheila said.

"I'll restrict myself to carrying one," Logan said. "Daddy Dearest isn't fond of tattoos. Of course, he's not fond of a lot of things."

Then we got into lycanthropes. Here, I did teach from the book, largely because the book has taught me a few things I hadn't known. When Rae Mistwood had told me that there were more than werewolves out there, it had surprised me

Werewolves were the most prominent and the most populous of the lycanthropes, but any animal that regularly ate meat, in theory anyway, could spawn a lycanthrope. In practice, carnivorous critters larger than wolves tended to completely devour their prey. So the book talked about werewolves, werecoyotes, wererats, werelynxes and werefoxes. They all had different vulnerabilities and different strengths. Werecoyotes, for instance, tended to maintain something close to their human level of intelligence even when they changed, although their personalities changed. Wererats, all female, changed during their periods. Werelynxes were vulnerable to iron, not silver. And so on.

The book had also mentioned rumors of other were-creatures. I blinked twice when I read one of them, and hoped like hell it wasn't true.

Wereskunks, if they existed, would be proof positive of the nonexistence of God.

"So," Logan said. "How exactly do you know about all of this, Mars?"

"I didn't know about werelynxes --"

"I didn't mean the lynxes," he said. "I meant the entire world of the supernatural. All of it. How do you know it exits, and how do you know how to handle it?"

"I'm a detective," I said.

"There are a lot of detectives in the world," he said. "Do they all know about this?"

Logan went on. "Your father, for instance. Does he know about this?"

"Do you think if he did, that we'd be living anywhere within a thousand miles of Sunnydale?"

Sheila said, "So what makes Sunnydale so bad, manhunter?"

See, this is why I'll never make a Watcher. I'd completely forgotten to explain about the Hellmouth.

Unfortunately, this is where we went beyond "I'm a detective's" ability to explain how I know these things. Vampires, werewolves and demons I could explain by saying I'd used my "uncanny deductive abilities." Hellmouths were not so easily deducible. Even having noticed the truckload of supernatural creatures in the vicinity wouldn't be a good basis for that logical step. There are sections of LA full of criminals and thugs; that doesn't mean there's a Boca Del Gangbanger anywhere nearby.

"Much as I hate to be forced to admit it, Kelly's got a point," Logan said. "Admittedly, life in Sunnydale is not a picnic. But why would life elsewhere be any better? Would No Horse Town, Iowa, really be devoid of the thrills and chills that so liven up our life here?"

If you're going to jump in, you may as well do it at the deep end. "Logan, you take Spanish, right?"

"Si," he said sardonically.

"Do you know what Boca Del Infierno means?"

He thought it out out loud. "Mouth . . . of . . . and I'm guessing the last word means 'Hell.'"

"You get a gold star."

"Gee. And I didn't even have to bring an apple in."

"So what's it all mean?" Sheila asked.

"We're sitting on it." Both Sheila and Logan looked at the floor. "Calm down. I didn't mean literally." Of course, I did mean literally, but there was really no way for me to know that.

"So, wait," Sheila said. "We got a gateway to hell around here?"

"More or less," I said. "And like you'd expect, a gateway to hell radiates all kind of evil. "

Sheila said, "And the demons like it."

"Love it," I said. "Some just come because it's an open flame and they're a moth. Others want to exploit it."

"Exploit it, how?" Logan said, asking a question I would have rather he hadn't.

"By opening it," I said.

There was dead silence in the journalism room for a few seconds after I said that. If I'd had a pin? Could've heard it drop.

From a hundred feet away.

"So, in essence," Logan said, "It's like we're sitting on a stockpile of unexploded atomic bombs; every terrorist in the world knows they're there; and everyone who might be bothered to protect us has better things to do, except for the Sunnydale police department, which, my issues with your father's investigation into Lilly's death aside, has gone so far downhill since his departure that being protected by them is only a slight improvement on being guarded by garden gnomes."

"'drather have the gnomes," Sheila said. "Least someone might trip over them."

"Almost," I said. "There is that Slayer the book mentioned."

"Just like every other mythical hero," Sheila said. "There ain't no Superman and there ain't no James Bond. All we got is us."

"Atrocious grammar aside, I have to agree with Kelly. Which makes twice in one day. And if that doesn't prove we're somewhere past exit 9 on the highway to hell, I'm not sure what does."

"We're actually kind of the end of that particular interstate," I said. "Anyway, while Superman and James Bond don't exist, Slayers do."

"How do you know?" Sheila asked.

"I've met her. And before either of you ask, I'm not going to tell you who she is. Even she doesn't know that I know who she is."

"Then how --" Sheila asked.

"I've seen her in action," I said. Absolute truth. That I'd seen her on TV rather than in in person was neither here nor there. "I've seen her kill a couple of vampires."

"Well, I doubt you'd lie about this," Logan said.

For some reason, Sheila took offense at this. "Never said she was lying, Echolls. I was skeptical. I've learned enough to know there's almost never anyone around to rescue you when you need them." A pause, then "Manhunter's an exception."

"Thanks . . . I think," I said. "I'm not a hero, though. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

To my surprise, it was Logan who spoke next. And his tone was serious. "There are a lot of people in the right place at the right time. Usually they're all running in the other direction. You don't. Neither does your father." After a second, a bit of the old Logan snark crept in. "Of course, you have a lot of flaws to make up for this annoying streak of doing the right thing."

"No," I said, "I'm pretty much perfect. Anyway, do you have any other questions?"

We talked for a bit more about vampires; Sheila asked me to describe the fight I'd seen "The Slayer" in. I described the fight from the beginning of _The Gift_, changing it enough so that, even if the story got back to Buffy, she'd never be able to recognize it when she saw it.

I didn't feel any twinges, so I guessed that The Adversary didn't have a problem with this. Probably because I wasn't presenting it as a prophecy of some sort.

For what it's worth, I loathe The Adversary and his rules. But I have no choice about whether to follow them. He made the consequences of not following the rules damn clear.

"Sheila," I asked when we were done with the vampires. "Are you interested in learning how to meditate?"

"Meditate?" Logan asked.

"A necessary precursor to learning how to cast spells," I said. "At least, if you want to do them right. You have to be able to calm yourself to focus the magical energy."

"Ah. And there's no point to that for thee or me."

"More or less," I said. "So, Sheila?"

She said, "Yeah. I think I would."

"I'll ask Rae to set something up," I said. "And, if there's nothing else --"

There wasn't.

Tomorrow: Buffy.


	30. Burned

Author's Note: Two people, one scene.

Disclaimer: _Veronica Mars, Buffy_, the plot: Joss Whedon, Rob Thomas, me.

X X X X X

I was waiting for Buffy the next morning at the Espresso Pump. So far, all we had on the schedule was coffee.

It was good coffee, though. And the pastry was equally good.

Buffy had two. That famed Slayer metabolism, for all that Buffy protested that she preferred a low-fat yogurt when she was all done slaying for the night. I doubt that Xander went on all those donut runs just to feed him and Willow.

So," I said after we took a couple of bites. "Are you ready to take over the world?"

"Take over the world?" Buffy said.

"Sure! Look at us. Who'd expect it?"

"Well, you're right there," she said. "I guess we could your detective skills and my . . . "

"Ability to piss off Snyder?" I said.

She laughed. "To be fair, I think everyone in the school has that talent."

"True. But thee and me and Sheila seem to be especially good at it."

"Me and Sheila I understand," she said. "You, though? You get good enough grades that Willow gets nervous. What did you do to tick him off?"

"I exist, and I refuse to be afraid of him," I said. "Trust me, if he'd been around back when I was running with Lilly Kane and Dad was the sheriff, he would have sucked up to me like sucking up was going out of style. You'll notice he doesn't give Duncan or Logan Echolls any problems at all, and Cordelia very few. Of course, by the time he started piling on, I was so used to it from everyone else that I hardly noticed. It made me appreciate Cordelia all the more."

Buffy blinked. "I can't imagine she didn't take a few shots at you."

"Oh, she did. But she'd been giving me a hard time all along. One thing about Cordelia: She always lets you know where you stand with her. It's an odd kind of appreciation, admittedly. But she's earned it." I took a sip of my coffee, then continued: "Honestly, I think you and my father are the two things keeping him from bringing all his weight to bear on me."

"Glad to be of service," she said wryly.

"You know what I mean," I said.

"I do." After polishing off her first chocolate croissant, she said, "As for what I did –"

"You came here with a reputation, and there's no one sticking up for you except for a couple of other semi-outcast students, a librarian he hates anyway, and your mother, who isn't highly enough placed for him to care about her opinion."

Raising her eyebrows, she said, "Not bad." After a second, "Semi-outcasts?"

"Yup. You have Xander and Willow."

"So what does that make you?"

I sighed. "I guess by now I'm a semi-outcast, now that Sheila Kelly's made me her new best friend."

"That's one I wouldn't have seen coming."

"I didn't either. But I'm not complaining. I'm perfectly capable of getting along without caring what 99.9 of the people on the planet think about me. That doesn't mean I'm going to turn down friendship when it's offered." Though I still might use the people. It was a hard lesson, and one I was still trying to learn: My friends do not exist for the good they can do me.

"I wish I had that attitude," Buffy said. "I can get along fine without a lot of other people – I'm learning that – but some part of me still wishes things were like what they were like back in Hemery, where I was popular and clueless."

"With what I went through to get it, no, you don't," I said. "And you seem to be doing fairly well so far." Then I decided to test things. "So, you burned down a gym?"

She looked at me, decided I was being just curious, and said, "I don't suppose you'll believe my smoking mice story?"

"Nope. I have it on good authority that mice only use chewing tobacco. It's hard for their little paws to work the lighters." Buffy snorted. Stopping, I thought: Did I really want to make her invent a plausible excuse. No. "You don't have to tell me. I was just curious."

She said, "Well, it is one of the big things hanging over my head. That and my occasional odd behavior here."

"If by 'odd behavior' you mean 'Saving a lot of people's asses when that gang invaded the school,' then I say hooray for odd behavior."

"You should talk," Buffy said, staring at the bottom of her cup. "Pooh."

"Well, it's not like the world's run out of coffee."

Buffy looked at me as though I'd just stomped on a kitten. "Don't ever say that," she said.  
That's one of my worst nightmares. A Buffy without caffeine is no Buffy the world wants to meet. I imagine Tokyo going up in flames, airplanes falling from the sky, and Raymond Burr running around like a madman and interacting with badly dubbed Japanese guys." 

"There's always soda and tea," I said.

"Okay, I'll give you soda," she said. "But tea? What am I, British?"

I refrained from mentioning Giles, and said, "I should talk about what?"

"Huhwha?"

"I mentioned how you've been given credit for saving people when that gang on crystal meth invaded the school, and you said 'I should talk.'" I wanted to know how much she knew about my escapades with Sheila and the Echolls family.

"I saw Aaron Echolls take credit for saving you on TV," she said. "I also heard Logan's version of the same events. And let's just say that I'm a lot more inclined to believe Logan. Asshole that he can be --"

"I prefer 'obligatory psychotic jackass," I said.

"Fine," Buffy said. "Psychotic jackass that he can be, he seemed to be telling the truth. And somehow I don't see him going out of his way to say nice things about you."

"Not usually, no," I said. "We get along now a bit better than we've been getting along, but it'd be stretching things to call him a friend. So, what did he say?"

"How you led one of the -- gang members --" a hesitation so slight I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been looking for it -- "on a chase through the back of the school, got the door blocked while Aaron stood around with his thumb up his butt, and then directed traffic when the gang member somehow broke in anyway."

"So I ran, hid, and fought when I had to," I said.

"Still better than most people do," she said. "So was what Logan said more or less accurate?"

My agreement with Aaron didn't cover confirming when someone else stumbled on the truth independently. (Thank goodness, it also didn't cover _Logan_ talking about it. Either Aaron Echolls figured he had his son cowed, or figured no one important would listen to him. The latter was, alas, likely true whether that was his motive or not, unless Logan went the atomic bomb route and told everything to the mainstream press; but at this stage in his development he wasn't ready to do that yet.)

"It was a choice between that and letting the guy come in and beat us up," I said. "That's not really a choice."

"True," Buffy admitted. "Still, most people would have been quivering in fear. You didn't." After a second, "So, what happened to the gang guy?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "He was unconscious the last I saw. I told Deputy Lamb about him on my way out. Why?"

"Just making conversation," she said. She wasn't; she was still trying to probe me, to see if I knew anything. And she was being a damn sight more subtle about it than she had been right after Halloween.

Well, if she was going to probe me, I was going to probe her. "How about you? Driving off the entire rest of the gang by yourself? Crawling through the vents like you were John McLain? See this face? It's my horribly impressed face."

"Like with you," Buffy said. "It's not like I had a choice."

"I hid in a room. You fought back."

"Someone had to," she said. "I couldn't just let the gang members ea – I mean, attack everyone with impunity. And I know you're not going to suggest I should have waited for the police."

"The police in this town? You'd get more protection from the Cub Scouts. Now, anyway."

"True," she said, and went to get more coffee. When she got back, she handed me a paper cup.

"Thanks," I said.

"You're welcome. So, ready to blow this pastry stand?"

I stood up. "Where to?"

"Walk and talk," she said.

As we left the coffee shop, she said, "There's one thing I'm still not clear on."

'Only one?" I said. "Impressive. That puts you up on most of the rest of us."

"Ha ha," she said. "No. I just want to know what you know about that Supersoaker Sheila had when the gang invaded. And how you saved her from that mugger."

"Beats me," I said. So. She'd given up on hinting and was getting around to asking flat out. "As far as the mugger goes, I was in the right place at the right time and had the right tool for the job."

We stopped. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid," she said.

"If there's one thing I know you're not, it's stupid," I said.

"You can't expect me to believe that that's all loaded up with pepper spray."

"Do you think I'm lying?" I said.

She said, "Let's just say I find the story a bit on the unbelievable side."

"Turn here," I said.

"Why?"

"I have something to show you," I said. Then, after we walked in silence for about two minutes, I said, "So much for outcast bonding."

"No," she said. "I was telling the God's honest truth when I said that. We have a lot in common and I really would like to be able to trust you more." I mentioned Billy Fordham; she winced and said, "No. This has nothing to do with that. I believe you when you said it was a job. And you can't betray me if there's no real connection to betray. We've always gotten along, but we've never really been friends."

"I appreciate your being willing to talk to me like I hadn't just been sprayed by a skunk," I said.

"That outcast solidarity thing again," she said. "Where are we going?"

"My father's office," I said.

A few minutes later we were there. "This shouldn't take but a minute," I said, and opened the supply closet with a key Dad didn't think I had. (You didn't think he just _let_ me take all that surveillance equipment, did you?)

On second thought, scratch that. He probably does. He seems to know almost everything else I do. He's just waiting to bring it up when I step over the line.

This was something I had set up for a while. I pulled out a bottle of hot sauce. Not Tabasco; something that makes Tabasco look like mayonnaise. It wasn't pure capsaicin; I don't think that was on the market yet. But it was one of those sauces where one drop in a pot of soup will make it too hot for most people.

Then I handed the bottle to Buffy.

She frowned. "You brought me here to serve me nachos?"

"No. Here's what I want you to do. Open the lid carefully." She did so. "Now. Put one drop of that on your finger."

She did. Three seconds later she began to swear. "What the hell?"

"That's how hot that stuff is," I said. "Bathroom's over there. Quick, go rinse it off." While she was in the bathroom, I went to the first aid kit and got out some burn cream. When Buffy got back out, I handed it to her. "It should go away in a day or two."

"You just burned me," she said.

"Have you ever heard the story about the old prospector and the mule? Well, the prospector had fallen on hard times and needed to sell the mule. After some haggling, someone finally agreed to buy the mule because the prospector said the mule would do anything it was told. A week later, the angry customer found the now ex-prospector and demanded his money back. "That dern fool mule just sits there." The prospector laughed and said, "Hold on. You ain't learned how to deal with him yet." So the customer and prospector find the mule and the customer takes the reins and starts trying to lead the mule -- which doesn't go anywhere. Prospector says, "Let me show you how it's done." Then he picks up a nearby plank and whacks the mule four or five times as hard as he could. While the customer watched, shocked, the old prospector picked up the reins and pulled, and the mule trailed after him. "What did you do that for?" the customer asked. The prospector said, "First, you have to get its attention."

I looked at Buffy to see if she got it. After a second or two, she said, "Couldn't you have just said, 'You're stubborn'?"

"Sure. But it's not nearly as much fun."

"So you take this uberhot sauce and what? Mix it in with some water?"

"Yup. Works better than pepper spray. Same reason I use a water pistol -- distance and accuracy."

She seemed to have forgiven me for the mild burn on her finger. "Which leaves only one thing. How did you know what was coming? How did you know Sp -- how did you know enough to be ready for an attack?"

"I'm a detective," I said.

But Buffy was shaking her head. "No. Not going to wash this time, Veronica. If you knew something was coming, why didn't you warn everyone?"

"Honestly?"

"If you don't mind."

"I didn't know something was coming. But Sheila was nervous." I'd need to call Sheila and apologize for this.

She blinked. "Try another one. Sheila Kelly's not afraid of anything."

"She'd just nearly been attacked," I said. "I happened to be walking by and used my water pistol to drive her attacker away. When she sobered up, she thanked me. I don't suppose you've noticed her reformation."

"I know she's been participating in class," Buffy said. "More than I have, actually."

"Are you sure you want to set that low a standard?"

Looking at me carefully, Buffy apparently figured out I was teasing her, and ignored the gibe. "Still. That doesn't explain it -- "

"Sure it does," I said. "Sheila's been the baddest badass on the block for three years now. Teachers are afraid of her. And she ran across someone who didn't give a crap -- who upended her worldview in a matter of seconds. Who knows what could have happened if I hadn't wandered by at just the right moment?"

"So she brought the gun just in case."

"And, lo and behold, the worst-case scenario actually panned out for once."

"Hmmm." She thought for a second, and then said, "Okay, I believe you. One drop of that stuff hurt like hell."

"Sit," I invited. She sat down in one of the lobby chairs and I took the sofa. "Here's something you can trust. Whether or not we've _been_ friends, I would like to _be_ friends. There are damn few enough people in the world who do more than tolerate me as it is. I will not betray your trust. I will never do anything to intentionally hurt you." Notice I did not say I'd never lie to her. On that matter, I had no choice.

"Intentionally?"

"Well," I said. "You gotta allow for contingencies. So. Do you believe me?"

Slowly, she nodded her head. "I think I do."

"Good. Then I have a question for you, based on this new level of trust we've established."

"What's that?"

"What _did _you think was in the water guns?"


	31. Steamed

Author's Note: Sometimes the characters control the story. I'd intended to force my way all the way through to The Dark Age in this chapter, but circumstances intervened.

Disclaimer: The Buffyverse was created by Joss Whedon, Veronica Mars by Rob Thomas, and the storyline by me.

X X X X X

"Um --" Buffy said, and then stopped.

When she hasn't spoken again after a minute, I said, "Um? That doesn't seem to fit this new level of openness."

Yes, I realize I'd backed her into a corner. But she'd backed me into one as well. My rep was that of Veronica Mars, girl detective. It would look suspicious if I didn't try to find out exactly why the hell she was so keen to figure out what I had in my water guns. And she was smart enough to peg a lack of curiosity on my part as another piece to whatever puzzle I was to her.

She leaned back in her chair. "Yeah. I suppose it is." After a second, she added, "And I suppose if I don't tell you, that you'll try to figure it out anyway?"

"The answer to that would be a distinct and definite yes," I said.

"And if I asked you not to?"

"Well, see, my curiosity's piqued now. I'd just have to keep going."

"And if I said you wouldn't believe me?"

"I'd say I'd seen enough crap and weirdness in my life that that's not likely to be an issue."

"Not this weird."

"Trust me," I said.

"And if I told you not to?" I think she was portraying it as a hypothetical. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Buffy hadn't yet metamorphosized into George Patton, Jr. yet.

"I'd say you have no right to tell me do anything."

Another period of silence. Buffy wasn't Faith. It wasn't in her personality to simply threaten to beat the living hell out of me if I persisted. And I wouldn't listen to her if she did. If I'm willing to go up against a gang like the Fitzpatricks, I'd be willing to take on an irritable Slayer.

But, like I said, Buffy wasn't like that. I could tell that she was weighing her options right now. I could see three realistic ones. One, frantically make up something on the spur of the moment and rely on "Sunnydale, home of the terminally clueless" to carry her through; two, get up, run, and try to avoid me in the future; or three, actually tell me the truth.

If I'd been a betting woman, I would have placed money on option one.

This is why I'm not a betting woman.

"I'm telling you now," she said, "You won't believe me."

"Try me."

She sighed. "Okay. Meet me back here tonight shortly after dark. Bring your Supersoaker and be ready to run like hell if I tell you."

As calmly as I could -- inside, I was ready to be knocked over with a feather -- I said, "Dangerous?"

"Yup."

"I'll be there."

She sighed. "I hope it isn't your funeral."

Things had built up to the point where we pretty much had to part company right then and there. Small talk and window shopping after a big confrontation has a definite air of the anticlimactic. Buffy left the office and I sank back to the couch.

What. The. Hell?

Apparently I'd backed Buffy into enough of a corner that she thought telling me the truth was the only way out. Either that or she was going to try to have someone scare the hell out of me.

And again, Buffy Summers didn't seem nearly that Machiavellian.

I would have avoided it if I could have. But the only way for that to happen would have been to refuse to tell her -- which would have only fueled her suspicions; refuse to ask what the hell she thought I was packing -- which would have fueled her suspicions -- or to not have set up the meeting at all.

Ah, time travel. Where art thou when we need you?

(The only time travel I remember being done in the Buffyverse -- Buffy's "Been There, Done That" experience in The Magic Box aside -- was Illyria. And she was a God. So I wasn't solving this through any convenient trips back through time. Not unless this was not only the Buffyverse, but the Back to the Future-Verse. And noticing a distinct lack of anyone remotely resembling Christopher Lloyd or Michael J. Fox flying around in converted Deloreans, I'd have to say the odds of that were pretty slim.)

At least I had lead time. About seven hours or so, but that should be enough.

So. Home. To Backup, and lunch, and whatever homework I actually needed to do.

X X X X X

There was one piece of good news to come down the pike: Dad called.

"Guess what I have in my hand."

"The keys to the kingdom?"

"Try again."

"A rabid weasel?"

"I think you'd be hearing my screams. One more try, sweetie."

"The agreement between Amelia DeLongpres, Abel Koontz, and Jake Kane?"

"Why is it always takes you three tries, sweetie?"

"Because it allows for maximum humor with minimum annoyance value, of course."

"You," he said, "Are entirely too analytical."

"I've been told that at times." The humor left my voice. "Dad. Good job."

"Thank you. You know this is only the beginning."

"Yes," I said, "But now we at least have that beginning." Still, he was right. We might be able to work up a good book on the subject using the evidence we had now: The shoes mysteriously traveling from Lilly's bedroom to Abel Koontz's boat; the security camera (in the original timeline it had been a traffic camera, but those weren't quite so common yet) that had revised the timeline of her death; and now this.

But that wouldn't get Abel Koontz cleared -- not yet, anyway -- and it wouldn't get Aaron Echolls convicted.

No, that evidence, the tapes of Aaron and Lilly having sex, I still had well-hidden. The only other person who knew they existed was Aaron Echolls, and he would have no idea I had them.

"So, you're on your way home now?"

"Passing the Nevada border as we speak. That should get me back in time for a nice dinner."

Hmm. Potential conflict. "Do you mind making it an early dinner?"

"Provided you're not shoving tuna in my face the second I walk in the door, no."

"There goes that photo op."

"I live to disappoint. Why the early meal?"

"I'm meeting Buffy Summers at around 7 for some fun and exciting school-related activities."

"Define school-related. I want to be sure you mean something to do with studying, and not something to do with TP'ing Principal Snyder's car."

"Dad! I would never do that." A pause then, "It's too unoriginal."

"Veronica –" he said with just that hint of fatherly exasperation that let me know that, while he wasn't upset, he would appreciate a serious answer to the question.

"I'm helping her with some schoolwork. That's all."

"Just be careful. You know how Sunnydale gets after dark."

"I will."

"Good. See you this afternoon."

X X X X X

We went out for an early dinner – being careful to keep our gloating to inside the apartment, where Dad informed me that he had already made several copies of the agreement between Koontz and Jake Kane, and hidden them in various hard-to-reach places. "Just in case Clarence Weidman happens to find out what I've been up to."

Oh, I wouldn't doubt that. Clarence Weidman, for all of his faults, is damned efficient is finding out things you're trying to hide from him. In any battle of wits, I was backing my father, of course, but Weidman had more than wits: He had boatloads of Kane Cash.

Still, if we told him that we didn't think it was a member of the Kane family, he might be convinced to back off.

I wouldn't go placing any large wagers on that. But then, you know me and my history with gambling.

We got home, I grabbed my school bag – making sure to pack the water pistol. (I was going to add some hot sauce when I got to Dad's office, to make sure Buffy saw me do it. It honestly wasn't a bad idea – a dash of that hot sauce in plain water, in someone's eyes, would hurt like hell.)

I beat Buffy there, by how much I'm not sure. I went inside and got the hot sauce, adding a few drops to the mixture in my water pistol.

When I closed the closet, I nearly had a heart attack. Then it was all I could do to stop myself from smiling.

Angel was standing in the front office.

Not to sound too much like the Master, but we'd obviously reached the "scare the hell out of Veronica" portion of the evening. And since Buffy wasn't reckless enough to throw me into the line of fire, this was what she'd come up with.

Either that, or this was an awfully big coincidence. And while, unlike Buffy, I do believe in coincidences (I'm willing to concede the leprechauns), I'm not dumb enough to believe this is one.

"Veronica," Angel said, in that smooth-not-threatening-and-scarier-because-of-it voice I'd heard hundreds of times. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I said. "After all, my father owns the place." I didn't let on that I had any idea what was going on. I'm really quite proud of myself. Meryl Streep's got nothing on me, I tell you. Nothing.

"The door was open," he said. A lie, of course. It hadn't been. It hadn't been locked, but it hadn't been open.

Still, I had to play this out. I had the water pistol in my hand -- I didn't want to use it on Angel, both because I didn't want to hurt him and I didn't want to tip my hand on the holy water. I would if I had to. Buffy would show up before things went too far, rescue me, and then see how I reacted.

She hadn't thought it through. Even assuming I was the average Sunnydale resident, living my life in frantic and determined denial, I would have gotten suspicious when I saw her hanging around the person who'd attacked me.

And I'm not the average Sunnydale resident. Wouldn't have been, even if the Adversary hadn't let me keep my knowledge of the future and the way things worked. (Note to the Adversary, whom I assume is listening in on my private thoughts: That is not a suggestion for a future challenge. Really. One is enough.)

"So," I said, "As you can see, I'm okay."

"I can," he said, making no move to leave.

"Did you want to hire me again? Some other ex-boyfriend of Buffy's starting to rouse your suspicions?"

"No," he said. "Nothing like that."

"Then I'm really going to have to ask you to get going," I said, continuing to follow the script.

He stepped forward and put his vampire face on. "I really can't do that."

Okay, now my hand had been forced. I fired the water pistol --

Not at his face. At his hands.

They started burning. He yelped in pain, cursed, and said, "Buffy!"

Buffy came running in the front door. "Yes?"

"You were right. It is holy water. Though it hurts worse than any other kind."

"That would be the hot sauce," I said. Then looking at Buffy, "So this was your secret? Vampires exist?"

"You knew?" she said.

"I knew," I said. "I don't carry this cross around because of my deep and abiding faith." I pointed to my necklace. Then, to Angel, because there's no way I would have known this: "So what? You're a good vampire?"

"Yes."

"But he's the only one," Buffy said. Then, again, more seriously: "You. Knew."

Deliberately mocking her tone, I said, "Yes. I. Knew. How. Do. You. Know?"

"Knock it off," she said. "Why didn't you tell me that was holy water?"

Allowing some disbelief to enter my voice, I said, "How was I supposed to know that you knew?" To Angel I added. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah. Holy water doesn't kill us unless you plunge us in a pool of it. I'm going to have trouble holding things for a while, though."

"Well, then, next time don't make your act so convincing," I said.

"How did you know?" Buffy asked. "And if you say any variant on the words 'I'm a detective," I'm going to hurt you."

"Well, then, I'm not going to be able to answer you," I said. "I observe. I notice what's going on around me. And I'm not an idiot. Once I knew, I did research. Used my best judgment to try to sift out the serious information from that written by Anne Rice fanatics. Figured out that vampires weren't all that was out there -- but that at least I could protect myself from them if I carried the holy water and wore a cross. I'm not superhumanly strong and I don't carry a gun."

"Guns don't kill vampires," Angel said.

"I imagine a bullet through the head or kneecap might slow one down a little," I said. "That would give me time to run. But, again, I don't have one. Now. Here's a question for you."

"Yes?" Angel and Buffy asked at the same time.

"Not you," I told Angel. "You. How do you know?"

She went over to the reception area couch and picked it up. "I am superhumanly strong."

"You fight vampires."

"And the occasional demon, robot, mummy, and praying mantis woman. Don't ask."

"Wasn't about to."

Putting the sofa down, she said, "You can't tell anyone." Angel echoed her.

"Wasn't about to," I repeated. "There are a couple of other people who've figured out the supernatural exists. They have no more intention of trying to fight them than I do. I want to know enough to be able to protect myself as best as I can. If I hear someone in trouble, I'll try to help. But I'm not suicidal."

Buffy suddenly realized something. "That mugger you rescued Sheila from," she said. "That was Spike." A minute or so of conversation established that it was, indeed, Spike. "So if you know, why don't you do more?"

"I'm not a fighter," I said. "I'm -- yes -- a detective. And from all I've read, vampires appear to be notoriously resistant to being susceptible to the kinds of things detectives do. I knew there was someone out there fighting them. Now I know who. Trust me, there's no way I'm going to tell anyone. Short outcast blonde solidarity."

Raising an eyebrow, Angel said, "You do realize that makes you SOB's, right?"

Buffy and I looked at him, each other, and laughed. "Fine. SOB's it is," I said.

As we walked out of the office, Buffy said, "So, if I need a detective . . . "

"Call me." After a second, I added. "I may even give you a discount."

"May?"


	32. The Dark Age 2, Shorter, Darker, and Cut

Author's Note: _The Dark Age_. Treated with more respect than _Inca Mummy Girl_ and _Reptile Boy_.

But not that much.

Disclaimer: The plot's mine, the characters, not so much.

X X X X X

The next week or so passed more or less smoothly. I met with Logan and Sheila every weekend and taught them what I knew about monsters. I did not tell them about my meeting with Buffy and Angel. That's their secret to give, not mine.

Sheila also met with Rae Mistwood and began to learn how to meditate. According to Rae, she was doing fairly well – though it was the oddest state of calm she'd ever seen, because Sheila always came out of it with an evil (not literally) grin on her face.

I asked her about the grin. "She said, "'sfun, manhunter. And just because I might be centered and focused doesn't mean I'm not having fun while I'm doing it. It ain't like I have to be a Vulcan."

"So what about all that about being a rabid weasel on Jolt Cola?"

"'m still a rabid weasel. But I'm laying off the Jolt for a while."

I talked with Rae about Sheila's progress. "I can't teach her much beyond meditation, and point her in the right direction after that," she said. "I can supervise, but any but the most basic spells she really wants to learn she's going to have to do on her own."

"Just try to keep her from going overboard," I said. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that magic tends to corrupt."

"Tends to," Rae said. "Not 'does.' And you know her better than I do."

Among people we saw in the Buffyverse with a reasonably high level of power: Willow; Amy and Catherine Madison; Rack (presuming he was a person); there was only one who was never corrupted: Tara. (No. Family does not count. That's desperation, not corruption.)

I was determined that Sheila wouldn't be another one. That was one of the reasons I was glad Rae was willing to help her.

Logan, in the meantime, seemed to take it all in. He did buy a cross – the kind one shoves in pockets – and he also started carrying around a water pistol full of my holy water-hot sauce combination.

He also laid off giving me a hard time – at least, a seriously hard time. He was still snarky, but then, being Logan, he could do no less. I didn't think he was edging his way towards a "kiss-at-the-Camelot" moment, but since it had startled the hell out of me the first time, I wasn't completely ruling it out.

Buffy, for her part, told Giles, Willow and Xander that I knew about vampires – and that she was the Slayer. Cordelia, I'm not sure of. She and I don't exactly chat. If Buffy did tell her, I wasn't there when it happened.

I wasn't thrilled with this, but since there was nothing I could do about it short of shooting her, I accepted it as gracefully as I could.

Here's how the scene played out. Everyone was in the Sunnydale high library.

"I have something to tell you," Buffy said.

"It's gravy wrestling night at the Bronze?" Xander asked.

Willow said, "Why would anyone want to wrestle gravy – oh."

"As fascinating as this train of thought is," Giles said. "Can we move off of it before I feel the need to have by brain scrubbed with borax?"

"Too late," Buffy muttered.

In case you're wondering where I am, I was standing back in the stacks. Apparently Buffy wanted to pull a little entertainment out of this, and who was I to deny my fellow SOB her fun?

Buffy went on, "Anyway. I have something to tell you. Something supernatural."

Right then was when I walked out of the stacks. Buffy, by prearrangement, was facing away from me. "It's something pretty big," she said.

"Buffy --" Giles began.

Ignoring him, Buffy went on "It's not a vampire, not a demon. I'm not quite sure how to classify it."

Xander and Willow were frantically trying to get Buffy's attention. ""It's just -- what?"

Xander said, "Veronica Mars."

Buffy turned. "Why, so it is. Hi, Veronica."

"Yes, Miss Mars," Giles said. "How can we assist you?"

"Just browsing," I said, walking around the room casually. "Pretend like I'm not even here."

"Right," Willow said nervously. "While we get back to talking about that, that --"

"Horror movie!" Xander said.

"Right! That horror movie we, we were working on! For that class!" Xander said.

"Yes," Giles said. "Now, I think the first thing you need to do is examine some Hammer Horror films. For some stylistic tips."

I watched in mild amazement. Had I not known what I did, it was entirely possible I could have been fooled. It was fun watching them in action.

Buffy and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. "What? What's so funny?" Xander said.

Buffy said, "Veronica knows."

Silence around the room for a minute. And then everyone began talking at once. After a few seconds, Giles managed to raise his voice above Xander and Willow's and said, "How?"

"Well," Buffy said innocently. "You told me I shouldn't reveal my secret identity as the Slayer to impress cute boys. You never said anything about using it to impress cute girls."

Giles snorted. For his part, Xander was now staring off into space. Willow looked at us accusatorily. "I think you broke him."

She slapped him once lightly on the cheek, after which he said "And I'm back."

"I assume you're joking," Giles said.

Buffy must have caught something serious in his tone, because she said, "About the cute girls part, yes."

"Hey," I said.

She grinned. "Sorry. But, about the knowing part -- no."

"How?" Willow said.

I gave them more or less the same explanation I gave to Buffy. "Don't worry," I said when I was done. "I'm not planning on spilling your secrets."

Giles said, polishing his glasses, "It appears as though we've been presented with a fait accompli."

"Yup," I said. "I don't plan on forcing my way into your meetings, or anything, either. Buffy's pointed out that I say this too much, but it's true: I'm a detective, not a vampire hunter."

"Slayer," Giles said. "The word is Slayer."

"Thank you," I said. "Look. Buffy caught on because of the incident in October when that 'gang' -- and we know what they were a gang of - invaded the school. I and one other person had Supersoakers full of holy water."

Raising his eyebrows, Giles said, "Actually, not a bad idea."

"How do you know what a Supersoaker is?" Buffy asked.

"I'm not completely unaware of American pop culture," Giles said. "Miss Mars. Go on, if you would."

"Well, we all know that that gang wasn't a gang, but a group of vampires. I'd had an encounter with one of them a few days earlier –"

"She rescued Sheila Kelly from Spike," Buffy said.

Giles blinked furiously. "You faced off Spike? And you're still alive? How –"

"He apparently didn't recognize me," I said. "Anyway, Sheila was refusing to walk around unarmed –"

"Whoa, hold on, and back up," Xander said. "Sheila Kelly knows about vampires?"

"I'm surprised she isn't trying to become one," Willow said.

Glaring at her, I said, "I don't take shots at your friends, Willow. Don't take shots at mine."

"Well, you do know her reputation."

"True. I also know Buffy's. I don't believe either one."

Willow apparently realized she'd taken a step too far, because she said, "I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." I knew she was more reacting to the shock of knowing that I knew than out of any real hostility towards Sheila.

"Anyway," I said. "After holding them off for a few seconds, we ran to the back of the school and holed up with Aaron and Logan Echolls."

"That's when he saved you, right?" Xander said.

Buffy said, "That's the official story. Right now I'm not so sure I buy it." She looked at me.

"I can't say anything about it," I said. "But if you want to know the truth, ask Logan."

Sourly, Buffy said, "I don't want to know it that badly."

"I'll cooperate with you," I said. "Need a detective, let me know. Need someone to be the bait to lure a nest of vampires out of a tomb? That's not me. If it's an apocalypse, I'll do what I can. Otherwise –"

"I suppose we'll have to trust you," Giles said.

"I do," Xander said. Willow looked at him in mild surprise. "When I screw up," Xander said, "I go for the grand mother of screw-ups. I was wrong about the manh –" he caught himself – "about Veronica, and I kind of like to make up for my mistakes. Actually, I like to run and hide from them, but that's not an option here." He grinned.

"And on that note, I leave you to your meeting." I nodded to Buffy and walked out of the room.

X X X X X

That wasn't my only encounter with the Scooby Gang over this period, though they did refrain from asking me to research any demons. Of course, I also had my own cases – nothing paralleling anything back in Neptune, but it paid the bills. (One case of blackmail, one case of recurring petty theft.)

And let's not forget Duncan and the DNA tests. I guess the liberal application of lots of money can get something like that kicked up the priority ladder, though I hoped we weren't delaying anyone getting off death row, or arrested, depending.

No points if you guess the results showed that we were not, in fact, brother and sister. He was horrendously apologetic after it finally sunk in that we were not, in fact, guilty of incest, just sex.

Hmmm. There was no Meg around here to distract him, this time. I wonder if he was going to try to pursue me. In Neptune, he'd restrained himself as long as I'd been dating Logan. But when that relationship fell apart, he was ready to jump in.

If that sounds negative, I don't mean it that way.

But our Neptune relationship ended when he ran off with his and Meg's baby, and I really didn't feel like resurrecting it. Not at this point, after all I've been through.

Something else to keep an eye on.

In the meantime, I was trying to do something I hadn't really tried yet: stop an entire episode from occurring. At the end of Halloween, Giles told Ethan to, more or less, get the hell out of town. I'm assuming that he said the same thing here.

I also know that Ethan didn't. He must have maintained a low profile between then and The Dark Age, but he was still here.

How do I know?

I saw him.

In whatever scattered fragments of my life weren't taken up with school, cases, DNA tests, explanations of the supernatural, or dealings with the Slayerettes, I'd been keeping an eye on everyone's favorite sorcerer.

Even gotten a few photographs. Including one in front of a Thanksgiving display at a local grocery store. (For proof of what time of year it was.)

For the final crowning touch, while wearing a while I arranged to bump into him at a local bookstore where he was looking through some mysteries. (Agatha Christie, oddly enough. Never would have figured him for a fan.) I asked him for some advice regarding which one to purchase, talking with a distinct Russian accent.

"_The Murder of Roger Ackroyd,_" he said, pointing to a copy. "Easily the finest ending of any work of fiction. Upended all of the conventions of fiction. One of the reasons I'm fond of Christie, despite her annoying fondness for the English aristocracy." Well, that explained it. _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_ had one of the greatest twist endings in the history of twist endings, right up there with _Usual Suspects, Sixth Sense,_ and "It's a cookbook."

"Thank you. Perhaps, would you know what today's date is?"

"November thirteenth."

"Thank you," I said, and to keep up the guise I took the book, purchased it, and walked out of the store.

Five photographs and a tape. That should be enough. The next morning, after homeroom, I slipped into the library and left the envelope on the circulation desk.

There was a note inside. It read:

_Mr. Giles:_

_I thought you might be interested in seeing the following items. The tape should play on any tape recorder._

_Wasn't he supposed to be gone by now?_

_Yours truly,_

_Epimetheus_

I heard what happened from Buffy a couple of days later. "So, anything fun and exciting happen recently?"

She gave me an odd look. "Funny you should ask," she said, and then told me what had happened: How they'd tracked down an old "friend" of Giles' -- who, by the way, had been responsible for what had happened to everyone on Halloween --

"I'm lucky I made up my own costume, then," I said. "I wouldn't have wanted to come to with a sack full of jewelry and silverware."

"Knowing the police in this town," Buffy said. "You could have probably hocked it on the sidewalk in front of the station and they wouldn't have noticed a thing."

True, that.

Anyway, how this friend had mainly stayed in town because there was a demon chasing him, and he was hoping to lure it to Giles, or something like that. Temporarily working with him, they devised a plan to trap the demon in a mystical container of some sort, after which they sealed it up in about fifty pounds of cement. Then Angel took it well out into the Pacific Ocean and dumped it.

Hmm. Not as efficient as they'd been in canon. But then, fewer people were now dead. I suppose whether this counted in my favor, or against me, would deal with whether Eyghon ever managed to escape. "Giles says that even if he manages to get out," Buffy told me, "He's all oozy and doesn't like the water much."

So I'll chalk that one up as a well-done. And no complications.

Of course, by saying there were no complications . . . .

At the end of school, Cordelia, of all people caught up with me. "Giles wants to see you," she said.

"And he sent you?"

"I know! Really! Like I have a sign around my neck saying, 'messenger,' or something. But I was in the room, and like an idiot I didn't tell him no."

"I assume you don't know anything else?"

"Got that right."

She went one way, I went the other.

"Ah. Miss Mars," Giles said when I came in. "Do sit down."

I sat at the table.

"There's something I'd like to show you," he said, and I nearly had a stroke when I saw him pull out the envelope I'd given him the pictures and tape of Ethan in.

"Yes?" I said. My mind, as you may imagine, was racing faster than any NASCAR driver.

"I need you to tell me about this."

"It appears to be an envelope."

"Ah. Yes. Buffy has told me of your sense of humor." His voice dropped an octave. "Now isn't the time."

"Right. So, what do you need to know?"

"In the last month," he said, handing me the note, "A friend of mine and I have had three encounters with a person styling themselves 'Epimetheus."

"Hindsight," I said.

"Exactly," Giles said, apparently impressed. "Now. You say you are a detective."

Holy crap. I couldn't be about to be --

Giles went on, "Find this 'Epimetheus' for me, would you?"

That's life for you.

Dodge a bullet and find yourself in front of a speeding bus.


	33. Remember the Titan

A slight switch in where I'm getting my episode titles from . . . For one chapter, at least. Too perfect not to use.

Disclaimer: Veronica Mars was created by Rob Thomas, Buffy by Joss Whedon, and the expansions of Sheila Kelly and Rae Mistwood are mine, as well as the plot.

X X X X X

When I was able to speak, I said, "The first thing: I assume you're going to me rather than my father because you suspect this has something to do with our town's night life?"

"It definitely does," Giles said. "Although that doesn't necessarily mean that Epimetheus is herself a vampire. And actually, since she has been seen in the daylight, I assign that a low probability."

"Herself?"

"Yes. My friend and I have had three encounters -- once in person, once over the phone, and one via that letter. The first two times it was a female."

"Was it the same female?"

He sat down across me. "You know, I hadn't considered that we might be dealing with an organization."

"What has this Epimetheus done so far?" I asked.

"Best to wait until my friend gets here," he said. I don't why he was being so coy about revealing it was Jenny Calendar. I'd know as soon as she walked in.

For a second, I wondered if this was a carefully laid trap: watch my reaction when someone other than Jenny Calendar entered the room. I somehow didn't think so, but on the chance I was wrong, I mentally prepared myself to show my "straight face." It didn't look that different from my "over the moon" face, but still, there were subtle differences, detectable only by the trained expert.

But nope; Ms. Calendar walked in, only to stop when she saw me. "Rupert?" she said.

"It's alright," Giles said. "Veronica is quite aware of . . ." he seemed at a loss for words.

"Those who hunt the night," I said.

"I hated that book," Ms. Calendar said.

"I didn't like it much either," I said.

"I have informed her of our difficulties with Epimetheus and have asked that she endeavor to find Epimetheus for us," Giles said.

She frowned slightly. "I'm not sure I like this. What if she turns out to be dangerous?"

"Just to check," I said. "You mean Epimetheus and not me, right?" She nodded. "Well, if I find myself face to face with her, I'll be careful. I'm not nonconfrontational, but I prefer not to be the one with the knife at the gunfight." The only time I'm going to find myself face to face with Epimetheus will be when I'm looking in the mirror. Maybe I'll brush my hair. "Anyway. Tell me about these encounters. And don't leave out anything. Any secrets you might have, I'm not going to spill."

"Right," Ms. Calendar said. "You have to understand, this is hard for me. Part of it involves something I thought was well-hidden enough that no one could have figured it out." She took a deep breath and said, "The first thing you need to know is that Jenny Calendar isn't my birth name . . ."

There followed a reasonably accurate description of our encounter in the public library. I asked for a description of 'Epimetheus' and she did a reasonably good job. Got the height wrong, though. She thought Epimetheus was around her own height. Jenny Calendar's about average height for a woman; I've got to be a good half foot shorter. Even in three-inch heels I'd come up short, so to speak.

Still, for my long-term prospects, that was probably best. "I thought she was wearing a disguise. The hair, at least, was phony. I'm not sure about the rest of her."

"Hmmm. What did say about finding out when you changed you name?"

"Something like -- It's been a few weeks, remember -- 'Jana Calderash didn't do any crimes and couldn't have been in witness protection because I never would have been able to find out when they switched places."

"That would seem to argue against your hypothesis of it being a group," Giles said.

"Not necessarily," I said. "She blackmailed you into revealing your true identity and what you were really doing here in Sunnydale. For the sake of completeness, have you made any further progress?" My book-mike was still operational, but I hadn't heard anything about it -- or about me, either as me or as Epimetheus.

It was a calculated risk I was taking, but a slim one. At most, I figured they'd think I was being too curious.

"Why do you want to know?" she said. If there was any hostility in the tone, I couldn't detect it.

I figured I'd better "come clean." "Well, I do want to know because I'm betting it's something you've kept secret – it might let us figure out where her knowledge is coming from. It could be supernatural sources, or it could just be really good detective work." I winced when I sued the word detective, but there was no way of taking it back now.

"Your safety has nothing to do with it?" Giles asked. His tone was mildly suspicious.

Actually, I hadn't been thinking about that, though I seriously doubted they'd believe me if I said so. "Sure. Angel knows me. Of course, I have no idea how he acted when he was evil. 'Vicious killer' applies, from what I've read, to all vampires."

"Prefix your description with the word 'exceptionally," Giles said. "He is known to have a tendency to go after those close to his victims."

"Okay. Now I'm a bit more worried. Still, whether any of this actually happens depends on what you and Ms. Calendar may or may not have found."

Ms. Calendar sighed. "I finally got my Uncle Enyos to talk," she said. "The 'escape clause' in Angel's curse is happiness."

"So he laughs at a joke and, boom, we're all being murdered in our sleep?"

"Sorry; I was sloppy," she said. "True happiness. To the point where he forgets, even for a second, all of the horrible things he did to my people."

"Okay. Thank you. Have you told anyone else about this?"

"The usual suspects were rounded up," he said. "Still, none of them are likely to spill the beans. Though, unfortunately, it did give Xander an unfortunate new reason to disapprove of Buffy and Angel's relationship. I ask you not to force me to recount the details."

"I won't." I couldn't go any further, anyway. Delving into Buffy's sex life might have been part of my "wager" with the Adversary, but it wasn't part of the case Giles had assigned me to.

"Did anything else strike you?" I asked.

"It's kind of a combined observation – both R, I mean, Mr. Giles and myself noticed it. We think she may have picked the name Epimetheus deliberately."

"Yes. She spoke of knowing our pasts."

"So she might have some kind of magical ability to look into your pasts?"

"It is a possibility," Giles conceded.

"And one you'd probably be better off tracking down than I would," I said. At his puzzled look, I said, "I've noticed those books in the rare books cage. I suppose I could try paging through them, but that's not where I'm an expert."

"I've already done some research," Giles said. "I haven't been able to locate any sorcerer or demon with that specific ability. Except, of course, for the original Epimetheus – but whether he exists, or ever did, is a matter of dispute."

Jenny Calendar laughed. "It's not likely to be him, anyway. Epimetheus was a pretty tall guy."

"Perhaps he has shrunk in his old age," Giles said. "In any event, Miss Mars, your point stands. I shall continue my research. But, to assist you in your task --" he proceeded to describe the Halloween phone call. "And the letter, of course, is right in front of you."

"So so far Epimetheus hasn't really caused any real harm."

"I'm not fond of being blackmailed," Ms. Calendar said.

"Who is?" I said. "I'm just saying so far these manipulations of hers appear not to have any particularly malevolent outcomes."

"True," Giles admitted. "But I still dislike being manipulated."

"So would I," I said. "It's just another piece of the puzzle." I stood up. "I'll do my best," I said. "And that leaves only one thing."

"Yes?"

"My fee."

"Fee?" Giles said, blinking.

"I said I would cheerfully assist in the event of an apocalypse. This isn't an apocalypse."

We haggled for a bit and came up with something I thought was fair.

I'd be donating this fee to a charity, of course. I may like making money but I have trouble taking it under false pretenses.

A lot of people have tried to find themselves. I might be the first one getting paid for the experience.

X X X X X

After school, I went home and walked Backup, and then dropped by the magic store to check in on Sheila, and to pick up some more bottles of holy water.

I took care of the purchase, then headed for a back room. It was half an office; with a start, I realized that, heavily remodeled, this was the room that had become Buffy's training room.

Sheila was leaning against the wall with a crooked grin on her face. I started to say hi, then realized her eyes were closed.

Rae Mistwood was sitting behind the desk, apparently doing paperwork. I waved to her and she said, "Come on over."

"Isn't Sheila meditating?" I said as I crossed the room.

"She is," Rae said.

I frowned. "I thought that involved the lotus position."

Rae smiled. "Normally, sure," she said. "But the idea is to let people find a calm spot within themselves. For most people, the lotus, or simply sitting cross-legged, works. For Sheila, this is what does it." After a pause, she added. "Admittedly, most people meditating don't grin like the cat that ate the canary."

"Can she hear us?"

"Part of the point of this meditation was to tune out distractions," Rae said. "If she's doing it right, she's not going to react to anything other than me touching her on the shoulder – or a really loud noise. If I leave the room, I don't want her burning to death in case there's a fire and I'm not in the room to wake her up."

"How long has she been under?"

"A half hour, so far," she said.

I was impressed, and said so. "Any spells so far?"

Rae said, "You'd think so. Most novice witches by this point are absolutely burning to try something. A little telekinesis, a dust devil, anything."

"Love spells."

"One of the most popular, and stupid, reasons," Rae said. "But if you do the kind everyone dreams of doing, it comes back and bites you more often than not. But Sheila hasn't even asked. She's read up on them, but hasn't tried any."

There were hidden fonts of wisdom beneath Sheila's superficially psychopathic exterior. Assuming she wasn't sneaking off and quietly casting spells well away from everyone else. From what I knew of Sheila, I doubted she'd do that, though.

I figured I might as well keep up my investigation. I said, "While I'm here, I was hoping you could help me with something."

"How?"

I explained "Epimetheus." "My client is knowledgeable about magic and the supernatural," I said. "But he can't think of anyone with this particular ability. Short of Epimetheus himself, of course."

"I doubt it's him," she said. "I haven't had any twenty-foot tall clients recently." Then she thought. "I'll do some digging downstairs, see if I can find any books on it. It's not common. There are a couple of time-viewing spells, but they're pretty time-consuming. No pun intended. Sure, people like to see what happened to JFK, maybe what went on at the crucifixion. In general, though, when it comes to spells, people are more interested in learning the future than the past."

"The Tarot, casting runes, prophecies . . ." I said.

"Exactly. The thing is, the future isn't set in stone."

Didn't I know it. "Prophecies usually come true," I said.

"With a capital P, true. But all the other ways of knowing the future are suggestions only. Strong hints. The saying goes, the stars impel but do not compel. That applies to pretty much every other method of learning the future, too. It may be hard to change a vision of the future. But it isn't impossible."

"I'm learning that," I said.

"What was that?"

"I said, I'm learning a lot. Thank you."

I thought for a minute. I'd have to do a pretty convincing fake investigation; the problem is, I couldn't actually come to any conclusions. There were all number of evil forces out there, but I wasn't going to dummy up the evidence that said they did it. I leave framing people to the Kane family.

Fortunately, I had a couple of weeks until What's My Line, so that gave me a breather in actually deciding what to do about that. I had a couple of decisions to make.

But I wasn't stressing over that at the moment. Looking over at Sheila, I wondered if maybe I should learn how to meditate.

Almost as if on cue, Rae stood up and walked across the room. Tapping Sheila on the shoulder, she said, "Time to wake up."

The grin widened, and became a laugh. In case I haven't mentioned it, Sheila has what can only be described as a cheerfully evil laugh. Not the laugh of the megalomaniac who's about to take over the world; more the laugh of the person who, in the language of old cartoons, "knows something they won't tell," and wants you to know she knows it, too.

Standing up -- almost bouncing to her feet -- she said, "Heya, manhunter. Sorry I couldn't say hi when you came in."

Rae frowned slightly. "You knew she'd come in?"

"'m meditating, not deaf,' Sheila said. "I was pretty damn deep in there, but that doesn't actually cut off the soundwaves hitting my eardrums.

"Are you calm?"

"Calm as I ever am," Sheila said. "Waiting for you to say when I can try a spell or two. 'scool if you want me to wait, though. I got nothing but time."

Rae said, "I think you're ready. Have anything in mind?"

"Sure do," Sheila said. "Manhunter. Want to come help me practice?"

"Do I!" I said with puppylike enthusiasm. Then, "Do I?"

Sheila laughed. "Sure, you do. It won't hurt. And if it does, I'll say I'm sorry."

I thanked Rae. As we left, Sheila stopped and said, "Rae?"

"Yes?"

"Who did kill JFK?"

"Lee Harvey Oswald."

"No shit?"

"Worked a ritual with some friends. Saw it myself. The only thing on the grassy knoll was grass."

"Huh. Thanks."

We left.


	34. Shush

Why Sheila likes long books.

Disclaimer: Buffy, Veronica, the original characters and plot: Joss, Rob Thomas, me.

X X X X X

As Sheila and I walked out of the store, I said, "Just in case you were planning to pick me up telekinetically as your practice -- don't."

Laughing, Sheila said, "Couldn't if I wanted to, Manhunter. 'sides, telekinesis ain't gonna be what I try."

"Need a ride?"

"Yup."

"Where to, Mac?" I said like a New York cab driver, then winced as I thought of the Mac I'd left behind in Neptune.

Don't get me wrong. I liked Sheila. She was a friend. Probably the only unqualified one I had here; my relationships with Buffy and Logan were too complex. And Duncan -- well, maybe someday. But not now.

Depends on how he handles the news that I'm not his sister. So far, when we'd talked, he'd been all business.

Which was fine by me.

"Home," she said.

"Home? You sure?"

"Yeah. Mom's not there now."

"Where is she?"

"I have no idea," she said.

Let's see. So far, what I knew of Sheila's mother was that she drank and that she thought her daughter's experiences in the school during _School Hard_ were a neat way to make money.

Another typical Sunnydale family. Joyce Summers. Dad. And the list of nominees for the Good Parenting award in Sunnydale pretty much stops there.

Hell, even Neptune's record wasn't that bad. How bad does it have to be when Jake and Celeste Kane are better parents than pretty much anyone else you can think of?

Sheila lived in an apartment in a pretty bad section of town (and despite Cordelia's sentiment that "there's not a whole lot of town," Sunnydale was bigger than you think). My apartment building might be kind of run down, but it was the Ritz compared to this place.

There were no exposed pipes, no rats, and no broken windows; it didn't look like something you'd see doubling for a crack house on an episode of _Law & Order_. It was just decrepit, that's all. I could have kicked the doors down.

And remember, I'm not the short blonde with superhuman strength.

The building looked familiar for some reason. I couldn't place why.

We walked up a flight of stairs that didn't look like it had been cleaned since Nixon resigned and went into the apartment, and then into the only bedroom. "Your Mom let you have it?"

"It's easier," Sheila said. She didn't explain how, and I didn't ask. The room was furnished simply: bed, desk, dresser, bookshelf. There was also a crate with some food and bottles of spring water in it.

The bookcase had some long books. Sheila hadn't been kidding. _Battlefield Earth; Atlas Shrugged; The Fountainhead; the Complete Shakespeare; _Complete histories of the Revolutionary, Civil, and both World Wars;_ The Encyclopedia of American Crime; The Essential Ellison; The Jerusalem Bible; _my Sherlock Holmes books; and a number of 3- or 4-in-1 compilations of mysteries and science fiction. Probably the shortest thing there, not counting her schoolbooks and a spellbook, was one of Cecil Adams' _Straight Dope_ compilations.

"Long books?" I asked.

"Long books. Like I said, please don't ask."

'I won't."

The evil grin returned. "Now. Time to learn a spell." She reached under her bed and took out a knife. "'kay, manhunter. Take one of my shirts and put it over my head so I can't see anything."

I did so, still confused about what kind of spell she was going to try. "Now," she said, her voice muffled by the shirt, "Take a lipstick and mark a spot on the wall. Anywhere. Don't tell me where."

Walking around the room for about thirty seconds, I marked a spot at about shoulder level above Sheila's bed. A few seconds later, I said, "Okay. Done."

She didn't say anything. From beneath the shirt, I could hear some indistinct muttering. The only words I could hear clearly were "find the target."

Without warning she took the knife and threw it as hard as she could.

No points if you figure out where it ended up.

Three more times I picked spots. The final time she stopped me and said, "Nice try, manhunter. I'm not cutting up my dresser. Pick somewhere else."

After I erased and replaced the mark, once again I heard, "Find the target," and the knife ended up in the wall.

She took the short off her head. "How'd I do?"

"Four for four," I said. "Let me see that shirt." I tied it around my own head.

I couldn't see anything. Not even light and dark. When I removed it, Sheila was staring at me with a vaguely aggrieved look on her face. "'dya think I was fooling you, manhunter?"

"You know me," I said. "I'm always suspicious." I smiled. "Pure magic, huh?"

"Pure magic."

"How did you know how to do the spell?"

Shrugging, Sheila said, "Just because I haven't done any spells doesn't mean I haven't been reading up on them. This was in that book of basic magic. Yeah, so was that telekinesis, and a cool light spell, and that dust devil Rae mentioned. This is the one that called me. So this is the one I did."

"On your first try, though? Impressive."

"Thanks," she said. "'sgood I've been doing all that meditating. Paid off. I've been practicing this in my head for about a week now. Wasn't going to try it in person until Rae said she thought I was ready."

"Why'd you pick this one?"

She shrugged again. "Dunno. I've always been a physical person, though. Messing with people's minds or using my own to move stuff doesn't really interest me."

"How were you planning to use this?" I asked.

And her evil grin grew wider. "To break things, manhunter. Maybe put 'em back together." After a second, "Maybe not."

"Just -- don't let it run away with you." I was never one of those people who saw Willow's problems with magic in season six as an addiction. I saw that as the way _the characters_ saw it.

And clearly, they were wrong. It wasn't about addiction; it was about the person using the magic. Catherine Madison had no morals. Whatever morals Amy had were wiped away by her mother and her association with Rack.

Willow had morals. What she didn't have was a self-image that let her value herself through who she was, rather than what she could do or who she was in a relationship with.

Doubt me? Think about it. First, hacking. Then Oz. Then magic. Then Tara. She never defined herself.

But magic qua magic in the Buffyverse was clearly not the issue. Tara, who certainly had a fair amount of power, never came remotely close to abusing her abilities.

Because her mother taught her not to.

That's what I was hoping would happen here. Only it wouldn't involve Sheila's mother, obviously.

"Not a chance," Sheila said. "I know what's right and what's wrong. Rae made damn sure I heard about witches who went crazy and bad. 'm not going to be like that. Not going to mess with people's heads. Buildings, chairs, etc: They ain't got minds to mess with or lives to screw up."

"As long as there's no one in the buildings when you burn them down," I said.

Sheila could tell from my tone I was kidding and said, "Naah. Arson's Buffy's gig."

I laughed and said, "Your first spell."

"Yeah. Didn't do too damn bad, did I?"

The front door opened. "Sheila? Sweetie?"

"In here," Sheila said.

"Mommy's got some work to do. So stay in your room, okay?"

"Mom --"

"You know the rules. I don't work, we don't eat."

"You don't work, you don't drink," Sheila muttered.

Without a word, Sheila got up and closed the door. "You might want to call your father," she said. "We're going to be here a while." She cussed to herself. And she's an impressive cusser, no question. Not exactly imaginative, but what she lacks in cleverness she more than makes up for in quantity and sheer vitriol.

"What's going on?" I said.

"You're not deaf, manhunter," she said. "Listen. And I'm sorry about this. I thought she was going to be gone for a couple of days. In the meantime, grab a book. And shush. Mom doesn't like it when I talk too loud when she's working." She went over, grabbed the Sherlock Holmes volume, and began reading her way through "Silver Blaze."

I didn't follow her advice. I didn't go charging out into the main room, either.

I did listen,

I didn't have a choice, not unless I wanted to drive a nail through my eardrums.

After about five minutes, that's exactly what I wanted to do.

Would you like to know what Sheila's mother did for a living?

Allow me to get out the thesaurus for some fun 'n' games.

Party girl.

Camp follower.

"Escort."

Lady of the evening.

Courtesan.

Call girl.

Prostitute.

My first wild thought was that she couldn't be very good at it, if this was where she lived.

My second thought was well, she has to get the booze money somewhere. And, looking around the apartment, it was obvious she wasn't blowing it on interior decorating.

I wondered why Sheila wasn't sticking her fingers in her ears and going "La la la la la" as loud as she could. After I looked at her concentrating on "Silver Blaze" as though it were her last hope of salvation, I realized that, in her own way, she was.

After fifteen minutes -- when it became obvious that Mommy Kelly's client wasn't going away anytime soon -- I went to the far corner of the room and called Dad.

"I'm going to be a little late getting home," I said.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I'm just stuck at Sheila's for the moment. We're going over some readings. I'll be home as soon as I can."

"And I was going to make my famous tuna salad," he said.

"Save some," I said.

"Sweetie?" Dad said. "Is everything okay? Usually you wouldn't pass up a line like that."

"Just distracted, that's all," I said. "You know I'd tell you."

"I do," he said. "See you when you get home."

Without lifting her head from the book, Sheila said, "Thank you."

"Next time, I tell him," I said. "I'm not staying here all night. And I'm not jumping out a third-story window, either."

"You shouldn't have to," Sheila said. "People don't usually stay for more than an hour. There's always space in between."

"Are you okay?"

"Of course not," she said, still never lifting her eyes. "And don't ask me if I want to talk about it, now, later, or ever. I've had sixteen years to get used to this."

"You sure?"

"Never surer of anything, Veronica," she said. "Now. Grab a book. Please."

With that, I knew how serious she was. Taking out the book we were reading in English, I started to read.

Twenty minutes later, Mommy Kelly's voice came through the door. "Okay, sweetie!" she yelled. "You can come out. Mommy's done."

Sheila put the book down. "Okay, manhunter. Time to get you out of here."

As she stood up, I grabbed her arm. "Are you going to get in trouble?"

Shaking her head, she said, "No. Mom doesn't have a temper." There was a lot packed into that sentence.

"Want to come with?" I asked.

And once again, "No. This is one of the reasons I stayed out so late. I've learned from you what a bad idea that is."

"Sweetie?" Mommy Kelly yelled.

"One more thing," I said. "How have you managed to survive this long?"

She got it within seconds. "Mom never invites anyone in. Something to do with entrapment."

That didn't make a whole lot of sense. I said as much

"Never said it made sense, manhunter. Right now, I'm just glad she thinks that way."

She opened the door and we walked out.

Sheila bore very little resemblance to her mother. The woman was five foot ten, dirty blonde, and damn near skeletal. She didn't seem to be high on anything except alcohol, though. "Sheila!" her mother said. "Why didn't you tell me you had someone over?"

"I didn't have the chance," Sheila muttered. Either Mommy Kelly didn't hear, or she'd heard it so often it didn't register.

Or she simply didn't care. I wasn't placing bets either way.

"Hi," she said, "I'm Grace."

"Veronica," I said.

"Nice to meet you," she said. "Sweetie, if she's going to stay --"

"No, I really had to get going anyway," I said. "See you at school tomorrow, Sheila. Enjoy the Sherlock Holmes." Then, "Nice to meet you, Ms. Kelly. Have a good evening."

"Always do!" Grace said cheerfully.

The door slammed shut behind me.

Aaron Echolls may still be the worst parent in Sunnydale, with Xander's parents fighting him for the top spot.

Grace Kelly may very well be third.

Does it need to be said that sometimes, life sucks?

Well, whether it does or not, I'm saying it anyway.

Sometimes, life sucks.

As I hit the landing I nearly collided with someone coming from the basement.

"Excuse me," I said, then saw who it was.

"Angel?" Well, that explained why the building looked vaguely familiar.

He looked at me. "Veronica. What are you doing here?"

"Working on a case," I lied. "You live here?"

"It's not much, but I like to call it hell," he said. I think he stole that line from MASH. Since I've done the same thing, I was hardly going to call him on it. "It's starting to get dark and this is far from being the safest section of town," he said. "Walk you to your car?"

"Sure. Thanks." As we headed outside, I said, "How are your hands?"

"Healing," he said. "You didn't really do a lot of damage. If I'd meant to hurt you --"

"The next shot would have hit your face," I said. "I have enough to do serious damage."

"Good," he said. "And this would be your car."

"Need a ride anywhere?" I asked out of politeness.

He shook his head. "I'd rather walk."

I was glad to hear it.

Because, right now, I preferred to be alone.

I got in my car and drove home.

Did I mention life sucks?


	35. Conversations with Dad and Other People

Author's Note: Allen Pitt suggested how to have Veronica change What's My Line. At least the part visible in this section. So, thanks, Allen.

Disclaimer: Except for the plot and "Sheila Kelly," 'tain't mine.

X X X X X

Dad could sense my mood almost from the second I walked in the door. "Hey, sweetie," he said, coming over. "I decided to wait for you."

"Great," I said. "Let's eat."

He stopped. "You know, that would have sounded more convincing if it didn't sound like you were getting ready to throw yourself into a live volcano. Want to try again?"

"I don't really feel like mustering up any fake enthusiasm right now," I said. Honestly, I wasn't even hungry. Listening to Grace Kelly and her client definitely killed my appetite.

"Homework that hard?" he said, knowing it wasn't anything of the sort.

I wished I could tell him the whole truth. I wished I could even tell him the truth that I could tell him.

But I know Dad. Five minutes after I convinced him of the existence of vampires, he'd be packing and we'd be moving.

And I have no lack of confidence in my ability to manipulate events, but it would be damn hard to do so from New York City.

Or whatever deserted island we ended up on.

Assuming it had phones. Training seagulls was still beyond me.

"Nope. It struggled, but we conquered it," I said.

"Then what is it?" Dad asked.

If I couldn't tell him everything, I could at least tell him this. "I met Sheila's mother today," I said.

"Ah," he said, knowingly. "'Grace' Kelly." Yes, I could hear the quotes around Grace.

"That's not her name?"

He gave me a patient look. "Kelly, yes. But her real first name is Mabel. Did you really think a prostitute's real name would be the same as the former Princess of Monaco?"

So that's where I'd heard the name before. "I wasn't even thinking about that, honestly." The words came out in a rush. "I know people can be like that. I've met some pretty lousy parents before. This, though – how could someone do that?"

"What is she doing?" Dad asked sharply. "Is she having Sheila –"

"No!" I said. "No, nothing like that at all. In fact, Mabel Kelly seems to make an effort –" not much of one; barely enough to even deserve the word –"to keep Sheila away from things like that." After a second, I said, "If you know about it, why she still has custody?"

"Because I didn't know she had a daughter until after I wasn't sheriff anymore. And when I try to bring it to Don Lamb's attention, he keeps saying he has more important things to do then worry about some whore and her psycho daughter. Direct quote. By more important things I can only assume he means kissing Mayor Wilkins' a – kissing up to Mayor Wilkins, because God only knows he's not doing anything about the murder rate in this town. How it's gone down I have no idea, but if he takes the credit he's lying. And now we're off the subject."

"Lamb said that?" I said. Dad nodded. "Get the bail money ready."

"You are not murdering Don Lamb," Dad said. "No matter how tempting the prospect is. She didn't do anything in front of you, did she?"

And now I was torn. My friend asked me not to mention it; on the other hand, Dad knows me well enough to know that simply finding out that Sheila's mom was a prostitute wouldn't have upset me like this.

So I really had no choice, not unless I wanted to tell Dad to mind his own business. And, honestly, I wasn't really in the mood for that right now. I excused myself by saying that Dad knew 90 percent of what I was going to tell him already. Mentally, I asked Sheila to forgive me. "Not in front of me, no," I said.

"Veronica," Dad said sternly. "This isn't the time to be parsing words."

I sighed. "I really wasn't trying to be cute, Dad. I was in Sheila's bedroom, with Sheila, when she walked in and told Sheila to 'stay in her room – you know, if I don't work, we don't eat."

"You had to listen?" Dad said. "Why didn't you leave?"

"Because I didn't want to get Sheila in trouble. I had no idea if her mother might not have a temper – not to mention her paying customer. And I wasn't going to go out the window unless the building was on fire. Which, from the looks of things, wouldn't require much more than a dropped match."

"No one should have to grow up like that." He shook his head. "It's a wonder she's lived to be 16."

"You're not about to go down to the station and demand that Deputy Lamb do something about this, are you?"

"Sweetie, if I asked Don Lamb to arrest a known terrorist parading in front of the sheriff's office, all he'd do is roll his eyes. I do not, however, want you spending any more time in that woman's apartment."

"Not in my immediate plans, trust me." I would sooner gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon.

"As for Sheila –"

"There is no 'As for Sheila.' She's a victim here. And honestly, given what she's had to go through, I find it amazing she's turned out as well as she has."

"She's been a fairly convincing psychopath," Dad said.

I shook my head. "No. She just plays one on TV. Like I told you before. Her grades are up. She's quit drinking. She doesn't go out at night and go crazy. This is a girl who is absolutely determined not to end up like her mother. Or like just any other Sunnydale statistic. I'm glad I've been able to help her as much as I can. But –"

"But you wish you could do more," Dad said.

"Yes. No one should have to go through that. But then, not everyone is as lucky as I am."

He smiled at that one. "Who's your Daddy?"

"That would be you," I said.

He hugged me then.

I needed it.

We ate dinner, and I went to bed.

X X X X X

I was half-expecting the Adversary to make an appearance in my dreams, but he didn't. Too bad. I was ready to yell at someone. Lilly did, though. I won't bore you with the details, but at least this time around she was no one's messenger but her own.

The days leading up to Thanksgiving were fairly quiet. I made a big production out of my investigation – Rae found a book I could use, but of course I wasn't in it.

My heart did nearly stop when I saw that the Adversary WAS, though. It described him fairly well – apparently the physical form he took when dealing with me was one he usually took, but he wasn't confined to just using that.

Of course not. He was The Adversary. One suspects that the only being in the Buffyverse close to his level would be the first. Possibly Glory or D'Hoffryn, but Glory's not nearly in his league in intelligence, and D'Hoffryn's not especially confrontational.

I wonder if I could frame him. After all, it would even be true – and I found him in the course of the investigation, so it wouldn't even be as though I were revealing the circumstances of how I came here.

We had another magical creatures class. Logan seemed to be taking it seriously. Quietly, just to be sure he wasn't about to pull a suicidal Death Wish stunt – knowing his predilection for grumpy heroism, I wouldn't be surprised – I asked Buffy to keep an eye out for anyone who might be hunting vampires who didn't belong there. Which, as far as I was concerned, at the moment meant her, Angel, and Giles, and Xander, Willow and Cordelia in a pinch.

Personally, things had definitely migrated away from hostility. I wished I could show him the tapes of Aaron and Lilly having sex, but back in Neptune he'd stolen them from the sheriff's office, which had crippled the case against his father.

I couldn't risk him trying to protect Lilly's reputation the same way again.

Anyway, we were able to talk fairly easily about most subjects. If he was going to make a move on me, he still wasn't showing any sign. I certainly wasn't going to force him. Having been through one and a half relationships with Logan so far, I realized that A, it would be a lot of fun, and B, it would be a lot of work.

Part of me wanted it to happen; part of me didn't need the distractions. Which is why I ultimately came down on the side of, if it happens, it happens, and if it doesn't, well, that would stink, but in some ways it would be for the best.

Yes, I have hormones. I can't afford to let them play a major role in anything I do. Not here. Not with what's at stake.

My next meeting with Giles came the Monday before Thanksgiving.

"I have something for you," he said.

"I wish I had more to give to you," I said. "Unfortunately, with blackmailers -- I realize that's not who Epimetheus is, but it does seem to be the way she operates -- you usually have to be reactive. The paper you gave me didn't tell me much more than that she's playful, or wants you to think she is, and has access to a computer. I did manage to track down one individual with the specific ability of "hindsight--"

"I researched three others, myself. I'm not counting the sorcerers or witches who could have done it, of course. The list would have been extended beyond measure. With one exception."

If that exception wasn't Ethan Rayne, I was the divine Glorificus. "I jotted down the names of a couple," I said.

"In the meantime, perhaps this will help," he said, handing me the note I'd written Jenny Calendar. "Ms. Calendar didn't bring this, the first time."

I read over it. In addition to the other precautions I'd taken, I'd done my best to disguise my writing. Harder to do than it looks. Simple tip: Write upside down. It'll come off like it was written by a four-year old, but it'll be a lot harder to peg as yours. A useful skill to develop, if you ever see the need to forge notes. I suppose I could have it done it like Lilly, instead, but that pain was and always would be too raw. Even fifty years from now, it would be too raw.

Lilly Kane wasn't perfect, in this world or any other. But dammit, I loved her.

Giles was talking. ". . . to me, like the author was attempting to disguise their handwriting," he said. "Either that, or they're five years old."

"Whoever it is," I said, "They seem to know the school. So far, the contacts have all been here." I stopped. "I'd suggest staking the area out, if Epimetheus had any kind of regular pattern." Then I had a thought. "Maybe I can."

"I don't believe I'm paying you enough to keep up a nonstop surveillance," Giles said.

"No, but you are paying me enough to let me set up a camera." He looked dubious. "It's not like I don't already know, more or less, what you talk about in here. And I'm not interested in gossip."

He nodded his head. "I suppose so," he said. Then, suddenly, "And if she calls?"

"I'll get a recorder you can hook up to your phone," I said.

"And if Principal Snyder comes in?"

"The camera shouldn't be noticeable," I said. "Still. Pass the camera off as security, and the recorder as an answering machine," I said.

He chuckled. "Right. I should hardly expect him to know the difference."

Then we discussed the entities we'd found.

"The problem with it being Ethan Rayne," I said when Giles brought up the name, "Is that it would require him to have set himself up to get beaten up twice. Is the kind of person that would do that?"

"He has always tended to the Machiavellian," Giles said. "But not the Byzantine. Still, it must be he admitted he has motive."

Motive, means and opportunity are the hallmark of the TV crime drama. In real life, though, a lot of people with motive, means, and opportunity have nothing to do with the crime. I mentioned as much to Giles, who said, "Your point is well taken. Still, I hope you won't think less of me if I simply move him to the bottom of the suspect list without removing him entirely."

"Of course not," I said. "There's always a chance." The chance, in this case, is slim and none. And Slim's left town. "Who else do you have?"

I made notes. Two were duplicates. The only one he hadn't managed to bag was the Adversary. I mentally said, "This is your last chance. Let me know if I'm about to break the rules."

When, after a few seconds, I hadn't gotten an answer, I said, "There's only one more I've located. He calls him the Adversary."

Giles' eyebrows rose so quickly and so fast I'm amazed they didn't smash into the ceiling. "He would have that ability, I suppose," he said. "He's also not given to subtle manipulations like this. He usually goes directly to whoever he's placing his 'wager' with. And I assure you, I have received no such visits."

"Could you tell me if you had?" I asked.

A brief chuckle. "Good point, Miss Mars. Still. I have not and I do not believe Ms. Calendar has, either." A pause, and then he said, "I suppose it could be someone else. Perhaps Epimetheus is merely someone the Adversary has wagered with."

And now we were getting a bit too close for comfort. "Maybe, but that would just make things way too complicated, because whoever he made the bet with would still have to have powers of their own. Occam's Razor."

"Entities ought not be multiplied unnecessarily," Giles said. "Another fair point. Still, I wish there was more to report."

"We'll set up the camera and the recorder," I said. "There should be more to report then."

And that, more or less, was that.

Thanksgiving came and went. We didn't have turkey. Not a full one, anyway. We did have almost everything else, though.

I have one ironclad rule regarding Thanksgiving: We can have turkey, ham, even chicken; sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, rolls, whatever.

But there must be cranberry, and it must be shaped like the can it came in.

In the meantime, I'd set up the camera and the recorder (and doublechecked the microphone I already had in there). I'd borrowed the camera and laptop earlier without Dad's permission, but if I was going to need one for a couple of weeks, I'd needed to get his okay. Gone a night, he might not notice. Gone for weeks on end? Trust me. Going to figure that one out. With Mr. Giles' connivance, I dummied up a story about book pilferage and Mr. Giles wanting to get to the bottom of it.

After a talk with Mr. Giles -- who apparently can be a convincing enough liar to not even get Dad suspicious, and you could take the total number of people I'd met who could do that and fit them all into a phone booth -- Dad okayed the use.

The recorder, I bought on my own.

Another fun fact: The job test? The day after Thanksgiving vacation ended.

So that recorder got an earlier workout than I thought. Using a nearby pay phone, I called the library phone early Monday morning. "Mr. Giles?" I said, doing my damnedest to disguise my voice.

"Yes?"

"This is Epimetheus."

"Oh. Right. Hold on a moment --" I could hear him fumbling for the on switch. I'd made it as simple as I could, but his aversion to modern technology extended beyond computers. I heard a small click indicating that the recorder was on, and then he said, "Go ahead."

"I was wondering if you'd contacted Sam Zabuto recently."

"No," he said.

"Do so. Ask him what he's been doing recently."

Then I hung up and ran to school, making it inside just as the bell rang.

Now I get to find out what job I'm going to have when I grow up.

Remembering how well it predicted futures on the show, I'm guessing women's basketball player.

Or maybe pirate.


	36. What's My Line Again?

And now: _What's My Line_.

Disclaimer: "Sheila Kelly" is mine, more or less. Everything else belongs to Joss or Rob. There is some dialogue in here from _What's My Line, Part 1._

X X X X

I was now facing quite probably the most important decision of my life.

In comparison, my current mission, every decision I'd made in Neptune, it all paled into o insignificance:

Did I like shrubs?

Sheila and I were at the same table Xander, Buffy and Willow were sitting around. We'd originally started somewhere else, but Buffy had called us over.

Logan, meanwhile, had zoomed right past it. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I'd reminded him.

He'd smirked and said, "Daddy dearest got me an exemption. Apparently he doesn't want it leaking out that the son of the illustrious Aaron Echolls has a career aptitude for sewer maintenance work."

I'd raised my eyebrows. "_Do_ you have such an aptitude?"

"With the amount of shit I've had to deal with from him?" he'd said.

I'd laughed. "Maybe you'd get zookeeper," I said.

"Only if I'm lucky, Mars. I'd dearly love any job that doesn't have me following anywhere remotely close to his footsteps. Not that I'd enjoy cleaning up elephant dung, but some days it would be infinitely preferable to what I'm doing now."

"So what will you be doing while the rest of us are sloughing our way through the career fair?"

"Whatever I want to," he'd said. "Within reason."

"Whose definition of reason?"

"Aye, there's the rub." He'd given me a mock salute. "And on that note --"

And so, here we were. Xander was finishing his rant. "It's ridiculous!"

"'scool, Harris," Sheila said. "I agree with you." Sheila put down the sheet.

"Aren't you going to finish that?" I asked

Sheila said, "Naah. Got better things to do, manhunter. I just picked randomly all the way down the page."

While Xander grinned, Willow said with mild indignation, "Aren't you curious to see what kind of career you could have?"

Sheila cracked her knuckles. "I figure I'll make that decision myself. Don't need some stupid test to tell me." I saw her point -- assuming I survived to have a career in this universe, I was aiming to follow in my father's footsteps in some fashion or other. Still, I was wondering what the test would say.

Xander was nodding, "Exactly. That would suck all the spontaneity out of being young and

stupid. I'd rather live in the dark."

Willow said, "You're not gonna be young forever."

"Yes, but I'll always be stupid," Xander said. After a second, when no one contradicted him, he said, "Okay, let's not all rush to disagree."

I looked at Buffy, she looked at me, and we said, in unison, "You're not stupid."

Cordelia, who was walking up trailed by a pair of interchangeable Cordettes, said, "I highly doubt that." Then she looked over the table. "Oh, look. They stuck all the losers at the same table this year."

"Then why aren't you sitting with them?" I asked innocently.

"Are you actually talking to me?" Cordelia asked

"If you don't know," Xander said. "Then you need more help than any old dumb job test is going to be able to give you."

She stormed off in a huff. To me, Xander said, "Good one, Veronica."

I said, "Right back at you, Xander." We still weren't friends, but Xander had looked at the evidence for me being the evil bitch who broke he and Lilly up, and had found it wanting. So what if we weren't friends? At least we weren't enemies.

Sheila said, "'snothing wrong with Cordelia Chase that a long fall from a tall building wouldn't cure."

"Hear, hear," Xander said.

And then the question came. Buffy asked, "Do I like shrubs?"

Xander said, "That's between you and your god."

"I've been wrestling with the same question," I said.

"Wrestling?" Sheila asked. "They're shrubs, manhunter. Nothing worth wrestling about."

"Well, I came down on the side of shrubs," Willow said.

I shrugged and said, "Naah. I think I'm going anti-shrub. Give me a good old fashioned parking lot anyday." Wilderness girl I am most definitely not. Move me to a farm and I'd be going berserk within a week.

Note: Of course, having said this, my ideal job will now be plant biologist.

"I think I'm going with the shrubs on this one," Buffy said. "Dammit. I wouldn't even be doing this if it wasn't Snyder's hoop of the week."

"Then why don't you do it my way?" Sheila said.

"Because Buffy respects the integrity of the test," Willow said. "She, she knows how important this is."

"Hate to disagree with you there, Will," Buffy said. "It's more that I didn't think of it first."

X X X X X

When we were done, Cordelia came and tapped me on the shoulder. "Back for round two?" I asked.

Cordelia sighed. "Nope. Giles has me playing messenger again. He'd like to meet you during lunch. So once you get done scarfing down your dog food on Saltines, head over there."

"I assume he didn't tell you why?"

She shrugged. "I didn't care enough to find out. Now go, before people think I actually like talking to you."

Same old Cordelia. "Your secret is safe with me." A pause, then, "Until I need some really good blackmail."

She glared at me and walked away.

I've survived two Cordelia stares of death in one day. I'm not saying that's a record, but I'm pretty proud of myself right now.

Anyway, that meant I had to ditch both Sheila and Logan, both of whom wanted to sit with me. I finally convinced them it was part of a case, and left them staring at each other as I headed to the library.

To my surprise, it wasn't just me and Giles. Willow was saying, ". . . about what kind of career you could have had if you weren't already the Slayer?"

"Do the words 'sealed in fate' ring any bells for you, Will -- what's she doing here?" She'd just noticed me.

"Good to see you too, Buffy," I said, though I knew she hadn't meant it that way.

In a mild panic, Buffy turned back to Giles. "Is this an apocalypse? Tell me this isn't an apocalypse."

Giles said, "It isn't an apocalypse. As it turns out, Miss Mars has been working on a case for me that now concerns you." He briefly described Epimetheus to them.

"Hold on just a gosh darn minute," Xander said. "Someone's been manipulating us?"

"You, only indirectly. Me and Ms. Calendar, far more so. But now it does affect you. Miss Mars, if you could disconnect the recorder?"

I went into his office, took the tape recorder, and, when I came back out, played it.

We all heard "Epimetheus'" message to Rupert Giles. Thankfully, the voice sounded nothing like mine. (I know what my recorded voice sounds like. It's amazing how different your voice sounds from how you think it sounds. This voice sounded neither like what I thought I sounded like, nor what I actually did. And now, back to the non-boring portion of our program . . .)

"I don't recognize the voice," Buffy said. No one else did either. Thank goodness.

"Who's Sam Zabuto?" I asked.

"A colleague of mine," Giles said. "Kenyan by birth, currently residing in Jamaica. Brilliant and dedicated man."

"Did you call him?" Willow asked.

"Yes," Xander said. "Let's all dance when the puppet master pulls our strings."

"Since everything Epimetheus has done so far has redounded, to some extent, to our benefit, I saw no reason not to make that call," I said. "And I found out what Mr. Zabuto has been doing for the past six months." A pause, and then. "He has been training a Slayer."

"So she's my successor," Buffy said. "Nice to know when I die someone else is ready to be thrown into the line of fire."

Xander caught on first. "Buffy," he said. "You already died."

Trying to sound as surprised as I should have, I said, "You what?"

"Last May," Buffy said distractedly. "Xander revived with CPR. Giles, I was only dead for a minute!"

"A minute was apparently long enough."

Willow said, "Long enough for what? I'm still confused?"

"Will," Buffy said. "What happens when one Slayer dies?"

"Another gets call -- ohhhhh."

"Oh, indeed," Giles said. "Not only is there another active Slayer, but she's coming to Sunnydale. Needless to say, Sam was most surprised to discover that Buffy was still alive."

Xander said, "How often do you Watchers talk with each other, anyway? I mean, you'd have thought someone at the Hall of Justice would've noticed that two people were sending in reports."

"Yes," he said irritably. "You would have. Still, while that is something both Sam and I wish to figure out, it is hardly the most pressing issue. One, of course, is that once again this Epimetheus has managed to, by pointing out something that happened in the past, clue us in to something to happen in the immediate future. Miss Mars, that is why you're here. I think, with this bit of information, we have left the realm where any normal human agency could be responsible for this."

It was good to hear his suspicions running in that direction. "Unless you're being literal when you use the word agency," I said, "I'm inclined to agree with you. You ever do anything to tick off the CIA or MI6?"

"Not to my knowledge," he said.

"Then probably now. I'll concentrate on the entities and sorcerers."

"And now, Buffy said. "Let's move on to the important part: She's coming to Sunnydale?"

"She's already on her way here," Giles said. "Apparently, according to Sam, a dark power is scheduled to rise in Sunnydale, and has to be stopped."

"A dark power?" Xander said. "That's what I love about you Watchers: You're so specific."

"Well, so we'll meet this Slayer at the airport, tell her she's not needed, and handle it ourselves," Buffy said. "Problem solved."

Giles shook his head. "No. We're not going to force this young woman – her name is Kendra, by the way – to make a trip across a length greater than that of the continental United States to turn right around and go home." A pause, then, "Especially because she is not likely to be arriving as a passenger."

"So that means she's either a pilot or she's coming in with the luggage," I said.

"The latter is correct, Miss Mars," Giles said.

"Why?" Willow asked.

"Because she was trained far more traditionally than Buffy was," Giles said. "She was trained to believe that a Slayer works alone and flies, er, 'under the radar' as much as possible."

"Let's see," Xander said. "In the main part of the plane with a lot of other people, or by herself in the luggage compartment. Gee. I wonder which one people'll notice more when she gets off."

Giles allowed himself a small smile. "Quite. Still, while Sam is an outstanding Watcher, his methods are as conservative as they come. There are no direct flights from Kingston to Los Angeles, so his best guess is that she should be arriving sometime tomorrow. Miss Mars?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have anything to say?"

"Hold up one of those signs at the airport so she'll know who you are," I said.

"I mean, about Epimetheus."

"The voice sounded human enough," I said. "And when Ms. Calendar met her she looked human. Doesn't rule out your basic shapeshifter, but I'm thinking it's someone who's either human or who can very easily pass."

"I thought you ruled out humans," Buffy said, frowning.

"I ruled out normal humans. There are a lot of not normal humans lying around." To Giles, I said, "I'm sorry I'm not being more productive. It's just that I don't have a lot to work with."

"To the contrary, Miss Mars," Giles said. "With your assistance we have now narrowed the field considerably. Thank you."

"I believe that was a dismissal," I said, standing up.

"Yes," he said. "Although it wasn't intended to be quite so brusque."

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm not offended. Good luck figuring out what to do about this new Slayer. And as always, if the world's about to come to an end --"

"I will contact you," Giles said.

I left.

X X X X X

If I remembered correctly, that night, while patrolling, Buffy had run across Dalton ransacking a tomb, and Spike and Dru had done something.

I wish I was capable of being the Machiavelli everyone seems to think I am. I'm capable of a good devious plan or two, don't get me wrong, and just like Hannibal Smith, I love it when my plans come together, but sometimes I think my success is half my ability to project and predict, and half my ability to put things together on the fly.

Case in point: By now, Spike's contacted the Order of Taraka. If I'd been smart, I would have mentioned that to Giles already. I still have time, but not much. They're going to start to show up today.

I got to school a few minutes ahead of normal and taped "The Order of Taraka is coming" to the library's front door. Okay, so I'm not going to get points for imagination or my ability to come up with cryptic messages at the drop of a hat. But I'm trying to avert a disaster here, not impress them with my literary skills.

Then I ripped off the tape and walked into the library. Giles was shelving some returned books. I thought that this might be the first time I've ever seen him do actual library work. "Miss Mars?"

I showed him the note. "Does this mean anything to you?"

His face paled. "Yes. Yes it does. And if Epimetheus -- we do agree that this is Epimetheus, right?"

"Is anyone else sending you anonymous messages?" I asked.

"Right. Well, let's just say that if this is true, things may indeed be approaching apocalyptic proportions. Keep in touch, would you?"

"I'm going to need the note --"

"I'll give it to you later," he said.

Whew. I may have pulled that one off.

In the meantime, time to find out what kind of career I'm headed for. Sheila and I walked over to the list just as Xander was throwing his hands up in the air and saying, "You've got to be freaking kidding me!"

"What?" I said.

"They've got me listed as prison guard."

"Could be worse," I said. "They could have you listed as prison inmate."

He snorted and walked across the quad towards Buffy and Willow. In the meantime, Sheila had looked at the list. "So?" I asked.

"Interior designer or actress," she said, grinning. "'scool. If Snyder saw this he's probably having fits trying to figure it out. And if it gives Snyder fits, you know it has to be good."

Okay, now it was my turn.

I checked over it once, twice.

I wasn't on it. Just like Willow, and -- yes -- just like Oz.

What the hell?


	37. Whose Line Is It Anyway?

Author's Note: The two questions the recruiter asks Veronica come from questions actual Microsoft and other companies ask certain potential employees -- or asked, anyway, according to William Poundstone's _How Would You Move Mount Fuji?_

Also: I'm not going to try to do the accent. Please, god, don't make me try to do the accent.

Disclaimer: The plot's mine; so's Sheila Kelly, more or less. Everything else belongs to either Joss Whedon or Rob Thomas. I use some more dialogue from the episode _What's My Line_.

X X X X X

My first thought was that they couldn't possibly be sending me the same place Willow and Oz were going.

They were going to a special event arranged by computer company whose name escaped me, but which was not Kane Software.

That led me to my second thought: What the hell was Jake Kane doing allowing another computer company into his territory to poach possible future employees?

Unless the universe had changed and it was Kane Software who'd called this meeting. No. That was impossible. They might call in Willow and Oz, but there was no chance in Hell Jake Kane would single me out for this kind of thing. And anyone in his organization who suggested it, with the possible exception of Clarence Weidman, would get fired.

Clarence Weidman not only knew where the bodies were buried, he was probably the one who'd put them there. If there was any normal human in Sunnydale who was even remotely justified in feeling safe while walking alone at night, it was him.

Clarence had one mandate: Protect the Kanes at all costs. Don't bother telling the Kanes what you're doing; that gives them plausible deniability. It was an odd kind of honor, and I wondered more than once what the hell Jake Kane had done to earn it.

At the moment, Dad was more in his line of fire than I was – but if Clarence learned that Dad didn't think that Duncan Kane had killed his sister, he would pretty much officially no longer give a good goddamn what we did about investigating Lilly's death. He would have done his job.

I was still mulling this over a couple of hours later when I walked into the school lounge for the career fair and almost ran into Logan. "I thought you didn't have to be here today."

"I'm here freely and of my own will," Logan said. "Free time may sound exciting in theory, Mars, but when you're under the rule of a tyrant who won't let you do much of anything fun, the practice can be boring as hell. So I figured I'd wander around and see if anything interesting caught my attention. So far, you're it."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or suspicious that I've just been damned by faint praise," I said.

"Yes," Logan said, smirking.

"So. The tyrant in question. Snyder or your father?"

Chuckling, Logan said, "The former. My father lets me have fun. Occasionally. And he gets to define fun."

"May I assume that your inspirational thought of the day will be _sic semper tyrannis_?" I asked.

Another chuckle. "While I am indeed part of a family of actors, Principal Snyder is no Abraham Lincoln. And speak of the tyrant --" He gestured; I looked and saw Snyder just walking down the stairs. "And on that note, Mars, I must skedaddle. My peeks in at these potential careers are strictly unofficial." He nodded his head slightly, and left.

I walked over to where Snyder had cornered Xander and Willow "And don't feed me that 'I just saw her a minute ago, she's around here somewhere" story," the principal said.

Right. Buffy and Giles right now were investigating that tomb Dalton had broken into last night.

"But I did just see her a minute ago!" Willow protested. "And she is around here somewhere!"

"I saw her not five minutes ago," I said.

Snyder spun. If anything, the look on his face became even more sour. He already had that look of a man who just found half a maggot in his steak, so now he came off like someone who'd just been told they had to eat the other half. "Mars," he said. "I wouldn't trust you if you said water was wet."

"Water's wet," I said cheerfully.

"Fascinating," he muttered as he walked away.

"And now," Xander said, "With any luck, he'll go soak his head in a bucket of it just to check."

Willow looked at him and said, "Live in hope."

To me, Xander said, "Thanks for trying, anyway. Now, I'd love to stay and chat, but I got an appointment with the warden on standard riot procedure. Ciao."

As he walked away, two men in dark suits walked up.

"This is convenient," one of them said, "Willow Rosenberg? Veronica Mars? Come with us, please."

I played along. "Are we under arrest?"

"Hardly," the other one said. "Let's walk." Yes, I'd been right. They walked us over to a section of the lounge that had been curtained off. One of them held the curtain up and gestured for us to walk in. The waiter immediately offered us the infamous canapés. I tried one. Not bad. I took another one as Willow declined.

"What is all this?" Willow asked. The recruiter gave his speech. "The world's leading software company" wanted to recruit us. And the head recruiter was Nathan McCarthy.

"I'm surprised Jake Kane is letting you fish in his pond," I said.

The recruiter smiled slightly. "He had no choice. We sponsored the career fair."

After he said that he'd been tracking us for some time I said, "Why me? I can _use_ a computer, but I'm hardly a programming genius like Willow here."

"Why are manhole covers round?" was the seeming non sequitur he came up with next.

"To fit the manholes," I shot back.

"If you could get rid of any state in the country, what would it be?" he said.

"Define 'Get rid of," I said. "Would the state secede? Would we simply lose the land? Would everyone in the state be killed? Give me an answer and I'll give you one."

He said, "That's why. Companies such as ours need innovative people, Miss Mars. People who take offbeat questions and come up with offbeat answers. Who not only think outside the box, but reject the idea that there was ever a box in the first place. That's you. Whether you can code is irrelevant. We also need people who can _think_."

Good answer.

"You three," the recruiter continued, "Are the only ones in the school we've approached in this way. Think about that." Then they both left.

Willow and I looked at each other for a minute, then turned around. Oz was there.

Looking, it must be noted, primarily at Willow. "Canapé?" he offered.

"They really are good," I told Willow. "Hi, Oz."

"Hey. Veronica. Good to see you again." After a second, "Did you ever –" he broke it off there.

He was asking me about my investigation of my rape at Cordelia's Christmas party. Unfortunately, the investigation had fizzled out. I still felt fairly sure Warren Mears had done it, but I had no proof, and no way to get any. I appreciated his discretion.

"It's been resolved," I said. "Though not quite to my satisfaction."

"Hmm. Hope it does resolve," he said. I thanked him.

"So," Willow said, stammering slightly. "You're a computer genius?"

"Genius? No. I know programming, and I'm good with hardware. Not my life's ambition," he said.

And the two of them turned their attention to each other, and I was left as the third wheel I so often came off as. Not that it bothered me. Of all the relationships in the Buffyverse, Willow/Oz was my second favorite. Unfortunately for Oz, my first was Willow/Tara.

Of course, that was a long way off.

I sat there and read until the head recruiter showed up. He gave his pitch, we listened politely, and he said he'd be in touch. It was a standard speech. Honestly, I was kind of disappointed. All this setup and, pfft. Fizzle city.

Or, in the immortal words of Xander Harris: "Big overture. Leeeeetle show."

Then exeunt omnes, in various directions. Oz nodded once as he left. Willow stayed with me for a few minutes. "So," she said, "What did you think?"

"The head recruiter and the man who took us into the room should've switched places," I said.

"Highly uninteresting," she said. "And now I guess we get to twiddle our thumbs tomorrow while everyone else is learning about their career opportunities."

"You really wanted to see what the test said, didn't you?" I asked.

"Of course!" she said. "I mean, what's the point of taking a test if you don't get to see how you did. It's – it's unnatural, that's what it is." Willow was working herself up into a state of high dander.

"I'm a little annoyed, myself," I said. "But I'll get over it."

After a second, she said, "You've met Oz before?"

"I was working on a case a couple of months ago," I said. "He and his band were playing the place where the incident occurred and I needed to see if they knew anything."

"Ah. Did he help?"

"He was able to point me in the right direction," I said.

"Good. Thanks. You know, for the information."

We went our separate ways.

X X X X X

Sheila had been beyond amused by the interior decorator. "'scool, manhunter. I just kept asking her questions about how she _knew_ which colors went together, or how a corner table can throw off or make a room."

"Did she answer?"

"First she started talking aesthetics and all that, but it all boiled down to her just knowing. By that point I wasn't the only one saying 'But why?'"

Smiling slightly, I said, "You know, it's wrong to make a grown woman cry."

"Yeah. 'sfun, though."

A bit more quietly, I said, "Any more progress on your spells?"

She grinned. "I can find the target every time. I'm also able to do this." We walked into my "office," I hung up the "closed for repairs" sign, and she said, "Turn out the lights."

I did. "Just for the record," I said. "You do know that certain of the more unpleasant residents of Sunnydale like to hang around in the dark?" Sure, I doubted any of them had wandered into the Sunnydale High girl's room, but I wasn't a hundred percent certain --

"We won't be in the dark for long," Sheila said.

And then her hand was glowing. It wasn't daylight-bright, but I could definitely see now.

I tried to pretend I wasn't impressed. "Good. So now you can rent yourself out as a flashlight." Truth be told, though, it had taken Willow longer to get through basic telekinesis. Either Sheila was a lot more powerful -- which I doubted -- or Sheila was learning faster because Willow was mostly self-taught. Amy Madison had had her mother's paraphernalia (and, unfortunately, sense of morals), which may be why she was able to learn so quickly; and Tara's mother taught her.

Even though Rae Mistwood wasn't a practicing witch, I'm betting Sheila was doing better because she was being taught by someone who at least had some idea what they were doing.

-- and because she'd made damn sure to wait until someone else said they thought she was ready.

She punched me on the shoulder. "Funny, manhunter. Naah. This was just something else fairly simple I could try. Apparently with practice I'm 'sposed to be able to get it as bright as the sun, if I want. Right now it just looks like I'm a damn firefly."

"Not quite," I said, grinning. "If you were a firefly something else would be glowing."

It took Sheila a second to get that. When she did, she laughed. "That might be fun, too."

X X X X X

Later on that day, I was sitting with Xander and Willow around the library table. Apparently Buffy had called in and said Giles wanted me to be there

This was already different from canon. By now, Giles and Buffy should be back and regaling everyone with their adventures in figuring out that Dalton had stolen the cross that translated the code that encrypted the spell that saved Drusilla . . . that killed the cat, that ate the rat, that lived in the house that Jack built.

Instead, Xander was telling us about standard riot procedure. And he didn't seem enthused by the prospect of making that his career.

"It's one test," I finally said as he worn down. "You don't need to be bound by it."

"Yeah, well, I didn't get wined and dined by the biggest software company in the country," Xander said.

"No wine," Willow said, then looked at me. "Was there wine?"

"Snyder would have had conniption fits," I said.

Xander looked heavenwards. "O might God, please let there have been wine."

"There wasn't wine," I said firmly.

"See, now, that's why I don't pray," Xander said.

Buffy and Giles entered the room at that point.

They weren't alone.

Kendra followed them in.

As in "Kendra, de vampire slayer." Giles introduced her as such. Without the accent.

"I was right," Xander said.

"It would appear so," Giles said. "Mr. Zabuto -- Kendra's watcher -- and I have been in contact and we have agreed that or the duration Buffy and Kendra should work together."

"And who are these people?" Kendra demanded as she walked into the library. "Do you not know that a Slayer works alone?"

"These are my friends," Buffy said.

Kendra stared blankly.

"Buddies? Amigos? People I hang with?""

Looking at Giles, Kendra said. "And you permit this?"

"Permit nothing," Buffy said. "He couldn't stop me if he tried." He looked up at her. "Fortunately, he doesn't try."

"Yes, um, well, I know better than to engage in futile tasks," Giles said. "Let's just say, Kendra, that under the circumstances, the Slayer Handbook did not appear to be the best way to deal with Buffy."

"There was a Slayer handbook?" Willow asked.

"Yes," Giles said. "Kendra: These are Buffy's friends. This is Willow, Xander, and Veronica. And they do assist us. If you would take a seat, there is much to discuss."

Kendra sat next to me. "I still do not like this."

"Like it or not, they're staying," Buffy said. "Giles?"

And we discussed the Du Lac cross I mentioned earlier -- and decided to try to pre-empt the thieves by figuring out what was in the book they stole before they did. "Miss Mars," Giles said. "I believe this is close enough to being an apocalypse for me to be able to request your assistance."

"' A dark power rising' is a bit vague, but toss in those assassins --" I broke off as everyone else started looking at me as though I had two heads. "You did mention the assassins," I said.

"Well, there was a lot else to do," he said. "I did confirm them, though."

"Oh, wonderful," I said.

"Giles?" Buffy said. "Assassins?"

"Um, yes," Giles said. "It turns out that someone has hired the Order of Taraka to kill Buffy. I was unable to confirm who ordered the killing." He briefly explained who they were.

Kendra's head shot up. "The order of Taraka? They are ruthless!"

"I figured from the word assassins that they weren't fluffy bunnies," Buffy said. "Giles, this can't be a coincidence."

"I should say not," Giles said. "You need to be very careful. If you had any plans for the night, I would cancel them." Buffy's face fell. Oblivious to this, Giles added, "Also, I would inform Angel."

"I can do both at the same time," Buffy said. "I was going to go skating with him."

Kendra said, "Angel?"

"Another ally," Giles said. "A vampire. But with a soul."

"Angelus is a monster," Kendra said.

"Angelus _was_ a monster," Buffy said. "Angel --"

"He's just a pain in our ass," Xander said. "But much as I hate to admit it, he's not one of the bad guys. Tell him I said so, though, and I'll deny it."

"Thank you, sir," Kendra mumbled.

Then everyone started talking at once, while I thought. There were three assassins. The wormy dude, the gun nut, and the "Cyclops." One-eye was scheduled to attack tonight while Buffy was skating.

There were already too many changes to canon for me to be completely comfortable. True, Kendra now knew about Angel and wasn't likely to attack him, and it was that attack which set him up to be kidnapped by Spike. One-eye had to attack tonight.

"I have an idea," I said. "Buffy should go skating."

"I'm assuming you don't actively want her dead," Giles said.

"No. But if Buffy _seems_ vulnerable, maybe you can set a trap."

Giles slowly nodded. "It has potential, I suppose"

We began to discuss how to set that trap, and internally I breathed a half-sigh of relief. Those things that could be changed for the good, had been; those which couldn't were still going to go more or less according to canon.

So far, so good.

(I know. I know.)

"


	38. Line Change

Disclaimer: The Buffy characters, the VM characters: Ain't none of 'em mine.

Author's Note: If you ever want proof that there is no God, It's this: American Dad is still on the air. Veronica Mars is not.

Just a little cynicism as the new fall TV season approaches.

X X X X X

I'd wondered, since the Adversary had first handed me this labor of Sisyphus, what would happen if one of the changes I made caused canon to go thoroughly off the rails.

So far, with the exception of Sheila, everything had been minor. Jenny Calendar had come clean sooner; Eyghon wasn't destroyed, simply disabled; and I was now officially privy to the secrets of the Slayer.

This, however. This had the potential to thoroughly fuck things up. I wondered if this was the "big moment" I was supposed to come to.

What if "the dark power" never arose? I'd probably prevented Angel's easy kidnapping, which meant that Spike would have to try to capture him by main force. I didn't know if he knew where she lived. I did know that he didn't know that Angel was necessary, yet, which meant that Buffy and Angel should be safe at the ice rink.

Safe being a relative term, of course, where a homicidal one-eyed assassin was waiting to kill you.

We hashed out a strategy to best make sure Buffy was never unprotected at the skating rink: Angel would get there as early as he could and stake the place out, keeping an eye out for anyone who didn't seem to belong there.

Given that the rink was supposed to be closed, the list of people supposed to be there was one, two if you counted Angel himself.

I wasn't especially concerned with their skating date, especially as right now it was about as undatelike as a date could possibly be. I volunteered to help with the surveillance – it is something I'm pretty good at – but was forcibly reminded that being an expert in spying on people in no way qualified me to face down any berserk assassins.

Their loss.

Kendra complained about the whole thing, of course. It seemed like Kendra's sole reason for existence was to complain that "This is not the way things are supposed to be done."

And then there was her accent. As a watcher of the show. I could excuse it. Sitting five feet away from her, I had to explain why she sounded half- Scottish, half Jamaican, without any reference to Bianca Lawson not having the voice talents of Meryl Streep.

So, that night, while Buffy and Angel were trying to lure one-eye into the trap and Dad thought I was at the school participating in a study group – not a technical lie – I asked Giles. "Does her accent seem off to you?"

"How do you mean?"

"It seems half Scottish, half Caribbean."

Giles said. "That's because Sam Zabuto speaks English with a Scottish accent."

I hadn't been expecting that. "He does?"

"As it turns out, the person who taught him English was a Scot. That he passed a small portion of his accent on to Kendra doesn't stretch the bounds of probability."

Then, time for a more serious question. "You told me earlier the Order of Taraka was dangerous."

"Exceedingly so," he said. "Once hired, they don't stop. If one is killed, another one will be sent. It takes a great deal for them to back off. Typically, it requires the being who hired them not to have lived up to their end of the contract, or for their contract to be fulfilled some other way – say, they have only a week to kill person A, and they fail. In that case, they go home and give the money back."

"I'm surprised you went along with my suggestion, then," I said.

"It wasn't an easy decision," he said. "But having more warning, and knowing who'd done it – thank goodness for the Council's contacts -- gave me time to think. If the order of Taraka is being used as a distraction, then whatever we are intended to be distracted from must be dangerous indeed."

"Kind of like blowing up a building to distract people from the multimillion dollar robbery going on down the street?"

"Indeed. And were I to tell Buffy to hide, then it would have been leaving the field clear for 'the dark power' to arise. Whoever that may be. I only hope it has no connections to Epimetheus. Kendra's arrival changes things to some extent. I hope this way I can both keep Buffy as safe as possible and still prevent this dark power for arising. Speaking of which: Any luck in your research?"

"None yet," I said. I didn't remember what book Giles had found his information in; that might indeed have to wait until morning, which is when I think Giles found it the first time. "Didn't any of these old-time writers believe in indexes?"

He chuckled. "That would have made things more convenient, I suppose."

It was getting close to the time when I was going to have to beg off for the night – no all-night study sessions for me; unlike Willow, Xander and even Cordelia, I had a parent who actually cared about my whereabouts and well-being -- when Angel and Buffy came in, lugging a heavily bound assassin.

Giles said, "Really, you could have simply dumped the corpse."

"And by corpse," Xander said, "We mean Angel. Really. Feel free to dump him anytime."

Angel glared at him -- right, Xander didn't know about the happiness clause on Angel's curse yet, but it couldn't be making Angel feel any better to be reminded of it -- but all he said was, "We don't dump living bodies."

Blinking, Giles said, "You captured an assassin from the Order of Taraka?"

"It was the advance warning that gave us the chance," Buffy said. "I'm starting to think that maybe that Epimetheus woman's on our side in all this. I was on the ice, skating, while Angel was hiding in the darkness."

"I'm good at that," Angel said.

"We've noticed," Xander said. "Oh, believe you me, we've noticed." Kendra, for what it's worth was also staring at Angel in a decidedly hostile fashion. Angel either didn't notice or didn't care. Me, I wouldn't be so sanguine if someone was staring at me like they wanted me dead. Sure, Angel was used to Xander glaring at him the same way, but unlike Xander, Kendra could actually pull it off. And Xander wouldn't try. He liked Buffy too much. Kendra, though --

"Don't knock it," Buffy said. "Cyclops-boy here was so focused on me that he never even thought that Angel might be creeping up on him. A headlock and several gut punches later and he was unconscious and we were scrambling around looking for something to tie him up with."

"Are you certain he's secure?" Giles asked.

"I have a century of experience in binding people," Angel said. "Mostly unwilling."

"Never tell us," Xander said.

"I echo the sentiment," Giles said. And what were you planning to --" One-eye stirred. Giles leapt to his feet and said, "Willow, Xander, Miss Mars: Stand back." We all got of from our seats and took several steps back. "Do?" Giles finished.

Glaring at the assassin, Angel said. "I have a lot of experience with interrogation. And a demon inside that hasn't gotten to cause anyone real pain in a long time."

"Um, don't you not do that anymore?" Willow asked.

"To 99.99 of humanity, no. This person wanted to kill Buffy. That gets him off the 'innocent' list."

"I don't like having to say this," Kendra said. "But the vampire is right. It cannot be a coincidence that the assassins are supposed to target a Slayer right as a dark power is about to arise. If we can get information from the assassin, we must do so."

. By now One-eye was clearly furious, though he still hadn't said anything. If he was bothering to strain at his bonds, you couldn't prove it by me.

Oddly, one of the things I was thinking is that I wished Dad was here. He wasn't Brenda Leigh Johnson, but he was a pretty damn good interrogator. And he wouldn't have to threaten to torture the man, like Angel and Kendra were doing.

Were they serious? I wasn't sure. I didn't think Angel would start pulling out the man's toenails. But they might get a little bit physical to prove that they could get a lot more physical if forced to.

At least, that's where I hoped they were going.

And, speaking of Dad -- "This may be an awkward time," I said, "But I really can't stay too much longer. My father's expecting me home. And I don't think he'll be taking 'coming apocalypse' as an excuse. He might give me points for creativity, but otherwise? Not so much with the impeding doom scenarios. Unless the doom is mine for coming home late."

"A good suggestion, Miss Mars," Giles said. "Xander. Willow. It would probably be a good idea for you to leave as well."

"Do you think we can't handle it?" Xander said.

"I would prefer you not have to," was Giles' response. "Buffy --"

"Nuh-uh," Buffy said. "This guy was paid to kill me and I want to find out why. And Mom's not home right now anyway."

I said, "Come on, you two. Obviously they're not going to get any work done while we're around. I'll drive you home.

We walked out to my car. As we got in, Xander said, "If you hadn't been there --"

He was griping for the sake of griping, so I didn't take it personally. "You want to see them torture the guy?"

"Do you really think they're going to torture him?" Willow asked.

Time to semi-bluff. "No -- at least not beyond slapping him around a bit. I can imagine they're going to threaten to do a whole lot more, though, and I have no interest in hearing about how inventive Angel was back when he was considerably less nice than he is now."

After I dropped Willow off -- she lived closer to the school than Xander did -- Xander jumped into the front seat and said, "Any progress?"

"On what?"

"On getting the bastard who killed Lilly arrested and sent to jail where he belongs."

I blinked. "Try to give me some warning the next time you do a subject shift like that. A turn that sharp needs a guard rail."

"Okay. Next time, warning. But I'm starting to get a little impatient."

I said, "Stop. Getting impatient, I mean. I'll let you know if everything goes to hell. But, without getting into too many details, I can say we're starting to creep closer and closer to proving that Abel Koontz didn't kill Lilly. And once he's out of jail, we can start working on getting the right guy in." After a second, I added, "You do realize it's going to be hard work convicting him, right? He knows the mayor, the governor, and is pretty much right behind Arnie and Sly when it comes to 'boffo box-office.' It's hard to convict rich celebrities in this state. For further details, please contact O.J. Simpson. Assuming he didn't leave his cell phone in the clubhouse."

"If he's not --"

"We'll work on it then. But trust me. I have no intention of letting this son of a bitch get away with it." I almost, almost added again. But that would have certainly raised a truckload of suspicions I had no intention or desire to raise.

We were at his house. "Okay," he said. "I'm still holding you to that, though."

"Do," I said.

I called Dad as soon as I saw Xander safely inside. Though given his family, 'safely' was a relative term.

It sucked when your life was bad enough that spending a night outside, in Sunnydale, where there were vampires aplenty, was a safer, happier experience than spending it inside with your family. (Amends, anyone? Think about it. Any random demon or bloodsucker could have come across Xander sleeping there and killed him, and he knew it, and he still slept outside.)

"Sweetie? I was just about to give you a buzz. You're running late."

"I'm aware. I gave Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg a ride home. I'll be back to the apartment in five."

"Then I won't need to send out the search and rescue dogs."

I think he was kidding. Though, in Sunnydale, they'd probably have to be werewolves.

Muzzled werewolves.

Dad didn't set curfews, per se. He expected me to be home at a reasonable hour, and to let him know exactly when. In advance.

He didn't ground me if I showed up five minutes late. He did expect me to call and let him know.

When I walked in, he was sitting on the couch watching an old movie. "How did Career day go?" he asked.

"I was recruited by a big software company."

Most of the joviality left his face. "Not Kane Software."

I laughed. "Jake Kane may be many things, but crazy isn't one of them. And even if he had taken complete leave of his senses, Celeste would strangle him if he even considered it." They wouldn't have a choice with the Kane Scholarship. "No, this was someone else. They tried to convince me that they needed clever, creative people as much as they needed computing geniuses."

"Sounds promising."

"Yes, it does. I'm really not interested in heading down the corporate highway, though."

He said, "You are not becoming a short order cook."

"Crush a little girl's dreams," I said. I knew what he meant; he knew I knew. He didn't want me following in his footsteps.

Well, tough. In this or any universe, I'm going into law enforcement of some form. Though I'll probably shy away from actual bounty hunter territory, which Dad strays into every now and again.  
That's assuming, of course, that I don't blow my enforced wager with the Adversary and end up wherever losing the wager will end me up. He wasn't actually too specific about that, and I obviously wasn't going to ask.

I watched TV with him for a few minutes, then headed off to bed. I had this nagging feeling that I'd forgotten something.

Waking up sweating from a nightmare about a man and his "little buggy parts" reminded me exactly what.

The Order of Taraka had sent three assassins. One was tied up as of -- I checked the clock -- six hours ago. One wasn't scheduled to attack Buffy until the middle of career day.

That left Norman Pfister, aka the bugman, who'd already taken over the house next door to Buffy's.

And unlike the first go-round, Buffy would probably be spending some time there tonight.

And Norman Pfister had attacked in the morning.

Dammit.

I couldn't confront him. He'd kill me in a cold second, the same way he'd killed Buffy's neighbor. But I couldn't let Buffy face him without giving her some kind of warning.

Well, shit. No point in going back to sleep now. I lay there and thought for awhile, firming up my plan in my head. Then I took a bath and went out with Backup for an early-morning walk.

When I got back, Dad was just waking up. "Another nightmare?" He knew about my Lilly dreams. I would wake up from them on more than one occasion

"Yup," I said. "Figured I'd take advantage of the extra time. I kissed him on the cheek. "So I'm heading out now."

"What, already?"

"Time, tide, and Career Day wait for no woman," I said.

That gave me an extra 45 minutes or so.

I drove to the nearest phone booth and placed a call.

My cell phone rang. I picked it up and let the line stay open for about a minute, then hung up first the pay phone and then mine.

As I got back into my LeBaron, I called Buffy. After five rings she answered the phone. "Hello?" she said sleepily.

"Buffy? It's Veronica," I said.

"I know we've got Short Outcast Blonde solidarity," she said, yawning, "But this had still better be a good reason. I got maybe four hours of sleep last night. Cyclops took --"

"Cyclops later," I said. "New assassin now."

That killed the sleepiness in her voice. "New assassin? Who, how, when?"

"How: How do you think? I just a phone call from everyone's favorite puppeteer. Who: Not sure. She told me, 'Watch out for killer makeup salesmen. They bug me.' And she said bug like she was making some kind of joke."

"Terrific," she grumbled. "Another bug person."

"Another?"

"Xander. Praying mantis woman. Long story." After a second, she added, "Why didn't she call me?"

"Good question. I'll ask her the next time I see her. Look. Just be ready, okay?" The answer: I'd wanted to leave a trail that explicitly excluded me. I didn't think they were suspicious, but this was just in case.

"I will," she said.

"I'm coming right over," I said, hanging up.

Then I did a little shopping.

When I showed up at 1630 Revello, it didn't look like there'd been a struggle. Buffy said, "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but why are you here?"

"No bugman yet?"

"Not so far. What's in the bag?"

I showed her what I'd bought:

Every can of insecticide the store had had. She laughed and said, "Clever. But I prefer the physical approach."

"This is just in case."

She nodded. "Not bad. I'll make a Scooby Gang member of you yet."

"Strictly apocalypses, Buffy."

"Yeah, yeah."

We waited. Okay. This was good. Kill the bugman early. That way you don't have to worry about Xander and Cordelia having to do it later . . .

Holy shit.

Xander and Cordelia!

Remember what I said about canon going off the rails?

That track been jumped, baby.


	39. Hold the Line

Author's Note/Disclaimer: Sorry for the delay. Health issues. And I don't own anyone below. Unless I created them.

X X X X X

Grrr! (No, I'm not going to add the arg.)

How I could forget something so important?

And the answer came to me almost in the same instant I asked the question: I'm not God, for all that I'm playing him on TV. I'm not omniscient and, despite a talent for Machiavellian plotting and an excellent memory, am not perfect.

One of the balls I'd been juggling had hit the floor.

I supposed I'd have to try to arrange them to get together, too. No Cordy/Xander meant no surprise discovery by Willow, no clothes fluke, no Wish, and no Anya.

Damn.

I really needed to find a way to add more hours to the day.

In the meantime, Norman Pfister, aka the bugman, showed up at the door five minutes later. I guess all he was waiting for was proof that there was someone in the house and awake. I got into position.

"Good morning! I'm Norman Pfister with Blush Beautiful Skin Care and Cosmetics. I was wondering if you might be interested in some free samples?"

"Sure!" Buffy said perkily, stepping aside. He came inside and moved to the living room. I stood around the corner, just out of sight.

He opened his makeup case and said, "Just take a look and see if there's anything there you're interested in. I also have an order form just in case."

I heard a thud, and then Buffy yelled, "Veronica! Now!"

I stepped around the corner and saw Norman Pfister, lying on the floor, beginning to dissolve into "his little buggy parts." I tossed Buffy one of my cans of insecticide and started spraying him the other.

I'd never been too clear on what Norman Pfister had become: mealworms, maggots, or even a bizarre form of demonic caterpillar. I was prepared either way.

I was also amazed at how scared I wasn't. This "man" stood a good chance of killing me, and here I was, calmly spraying him with the most powerful insecticide available on the open market (in Sunnydale at seven o'clock in the morning, so admittedly, we're not talking mass quantities of DDT here).

Mine appeared to be working better than Buffy's, but Norman hadn't managed to get more than a bug or two free. And the solo bugs it was perfectly possible to step on and kill.

The writhing pile of bugs was trying to reform and having difficulty doing so; what he wasn't having trouble doing was moving towards the door. I'd say we'd killed about 10-15 of his body mass by this point.

Buffy had had the foresight to close the door, though. The bugs couldn't turn a doorknob.

Norman turned himself human again, though he was missing his right arm. He turned and sprinted for the door.

The bug spray didn't seem to be affecting him now that he'd coalesced. As he reached for the doorknob, Buffy grabbed his remaining arm and flung him into the wall.

He went down and, apparently, out. Hmm. In human form he apparently reacted like a human -- even though there was no blood pouring out of the remnants of his left arm. Either that or he was faking it.

I stood back and sprayed him for another ten seconds or so until he was covered head to toe. If he was faking, he'd kill off more of his component bugs the second he tried to disassemble himself.

At least, that was the theory I was going under. It made logical sense.

Buffy went me one better. "You got another one?" she said, gesturing at the can.

I nodded. Like I said, I'd pretty much cleaned them out of bug spray. It was one of the reasons I was glad for a steady supply of under-the-table cash from my fellow students for tracking down their stolen property, figuring out who was sending them secret admirer notes, or spying on their SO's to see whether they were cheating. I could make weird purchases like this, or the holy water, in cash, without Dad having any direct evidence of what I was up to.

Buffy said, "Good. Hand me that one." I did, curious. "You had a good idea, there," Buffy said. "You just didn't go far enough." Then she pried open Norman's mouth.

The second Buffy moved the spray can towards the mouth, Norman woke up. Either it was a big coincidence, or he was faking and trying to lure us in

No one faked unconscious that well. It would have been like a normal human staying still while someone stuck a loaded gun in their mouth and pulled the trigger. Apparently Norman's buggy parts mimicked human all the way through.

Good for us. Bad for him.

I'm speculating here, not having much direct acquaintance with assassins. (The woman and her friends who were stalking Tom Cruz notwithstanding.) Still, I'm guessing that Norman was essentially a one-note killer. If his bugs didn't work, he wasn't going to be able to kill you.

In other words, he wasn't a killer because of his sheer muscular prowess. If he had been, maybe Buffy would have had more trouble.

As it was, it wasn't particularly close. Norman had just started to dissolve again – and yes, some of his bugs started to die as soon as he shifted -- Buffy forced his mouth open and sprayed him on the inside.

He "melted" into bugs almost immediately, many more of them dying.

What bugs could, jumped on her immediately. She dropped the spray can as they began biting. They seemed to be ignoring me, for the most part.

Buffy closed her eyes and mouth and began throwing great handfuls onto the floor. I stepped forward – and onto as many of the bugs as I could – and sprayed.

Norman's death-throe final attempt at carrying out his assignment was unsuccessful. Soon all we had was a whole lot of bugs on the floor, most dead, some alive.

I picked one up and put it in an envelope while Buffy finished spraying and stomping the rest. "Mr. Giles might want a look at it," I said when Buffy shot me a curious look.

"True. He probably wants to look him up in some big book of bugs. Anyway, I'm glad you were here," Buffy said. "And I'm glad you thought of the bug spray. My way probably wouldn't have worked."

"I'm sure you would have come up with something," I said. "Or, if worse came to worst, you probably could have outrun him." While we talked, Buffy went and got the vacuum cleaner. "Does your Mom know your secret?" I asked.

"No. Why?"

"Then you might want to empty that before she gets home," I said. "Just in case."

She looked sheepish. "Um, about that."

"Yes?"

"I . . . don't know how. The last time I tried, I was ten and the contents ended up all over the living room."

"That's not so bad."

"The dining room."

"Okay --"

"And the kitchen."

"Ah."

"And my parents."

"I get it."

"Did I mention I was glad you were here?"

After I came back from dumping the contents in the neighbor's trash, Buffy was pouring cereal into a bowl. While we sat and ate, she thanked me again. "So," I asked. "Could you have outrun him?"

"Probably," she said. "I don't have superhuman speed, exactly, but I can keep a dead run up for a long time. I could probably do a mile in under three minutes if I had to."

"Okay." I'd always been curious about that. She couldn't outrun Glory, but she did seem to move around Sunnydale pretty quickly. "So I think you pretty much know all of my superpowers. How about you?"

"Huh?"

"Besides being the best detective around," she said. "Do _you_ have any secret abilities?"

"Second best," I said. "My father comes first. And no." Wait. I couldn't give up my knowledge of the future, but I could tell them this. "Actually, hold that thought."  
'

"Huh? I was kidding."

"I'm not. And I don't know if you'd call it an ability. More like a lack of one." And I explained about me being magic-null. "Naturally, I haven't exactly tested it. I only know a couple of friendly magic-using types around here, and I'm not sure I want someone to shoot a jet of fire at me just to prove a point."

"Where did you get your costume from on Halloween?"

"I made it myself. Why?"

"I was thinking maybe that would explain why you didn't start acting like your costume." After a second. "You did realize that's what was going on, right?"

"Of course," I said. "As soon as the kids around me started turning into werewolves and demons, that is. I scrambled over a fence and hid out until things seemed to settle down."

"Hmm. Damn. I was hoping that you'd gotten it from Ethan's. The guy who ran that shop had cursed all of his costumes." After a second, "So what _were_ you doing in costume? You managed to avoid Snyder's draft."

Casual conversation, or was she suspicious? Either way. "What do you think? I was working a case and I blended in better in costume. That happens more often than you think. Not full costume, but wigs, different clothing, etc. It's the different attitude that usually sells it. My Dad's had to do the same thing a number of times."

"Okay. Just curious." We finished our cereal, and when we were done I said, "I realize you may be able to sprint to school, but if you want to avoid raising suspicions, I can drive you."

"Thanks," she said.

While she went to quickly dress and collect her things, I thought. Were they suspicious?

That was the reason I'd called myself this morning -- to leave a phone trail on my cell, just in case -- but that might not be enough.

I'd have to lay off for a while. Not that they'd need my -- Epimetheus -- help anytime past the immediate crisis for a while. They were perfectly capable of taking care of Ted on their own.

As for the bad eggs: Mine was getting hardboiled as soon as I got the chance.

I might try to manipulate Xander and Cordelia, but I could just as easily do that as me as as Epimetheus. As for Buffy and Angel, the seed had clearly already been planted. Whether it was planted deep enough to keep them from having sex on her birthday, I wasn't sure.

Still, that was a month and a half away.

As for what I'd do if I was found out: Hell, what _could_ I do? My "deal" with the Adversary barred me from discussing the matter. I don't remember any outs being left for possible discovery. All I could do is shrug my shoulders and tell them I didn't know what they were talking about.

No matter what they did.

So add something else to my list of things to do, or in this case, avoid doing: Getting caught. Not that I wanted to, in the first place, but questions, even causal ones like this, could be indicating that someone was getting suspicious.

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain" tends not to work. Not unless you can give them something bigger and shinier to look at. And I wasn't going to arrange for a vampire invasion or a plague of frogs just to get them off my back.

Maybe I didn't have anything to worry about.

Still. Better to be on the safe side.

The ride itself had no awkward questions. After I asked about the fate of the one-eyed man from last night -- he hadn't said anything; apparently the order of Taraka lived up to its reputation. I asked what they did with him next, and Buffy said, "That's what we're trying to figure out. I can say that he's not going to regain consciousness for a long time."

Then we chatted about pop culture and cute guys.

I am a teenage girl, after all. I think I'm entitled to do that occasionally.

Of course, ordinary teenage girl life and the lives of the two people riding in my LeBaron rarely intersected.

We got to school more or less on time, and I said, "Let me guess: Giles is going to want to hear about this right away?"

She said, "And you said you wouldn't make a good Scooby."

Something struck me, and I laughed. "What?" she said as we rounded a corner.

"I just think it's funny that I'm the detective, and I'm the one who's only an honorary member of a group named for a group of kids who did what now?"

"Figured out mysteries."

"Give the girl a cigar."

"I don't smoke."

Giles looked up as we entered the room. Had he gotten any sleep? In the original timeline, I think he spent the entire night looking up information on the Du Lac Cross. Kendra was asleep in the office.

Willow, however, wasn't with him this morning. "Ah," he said. "Buffy. Veronica."

"Got a little present for you," I said, and handed him the envelope.

He looked inside, saw the worm, and said, "Though this does appear to be a fine specimen, I am not an entomologist."

Buffy looked at me. I said, "Person who studies insects."

"Thanks. This isn't a normal insect," Buffy said to Giles. "The thing that attacked us this morning was just chock full of little goodies like this."

"He could spontaneously generate insects?"

"He was insects," I said. We explained what had happened, from Epimetheus' "call" onward.

After he digested that, he said, "And you're quite sure he's dead?"

"As sure as we can be," Buffy said. "I dumped a vacuum-bag and a couple of trash bag's worth of dead insects in a neighbor's garbage. And, before you ask, I'll be tracking down the number of the phone Epimetheus used to call me. Definitely female. Didn't seem to be using any particular accent. It'll probably be a dead end, but I'll let you know."

"Good," he said. "In the meantime, I've discovered what the Du Lac cross does. It restores a weak and sick vampire back to full health."

Buffy threw her hands up in the air. "And that answers all of our questions."

"It does?" Giles asked.

"There's a fairly prominent weak and sick vampire in town right now. Spike's honey. Drusilla."

"Then Spike must have been the one to call in the order of Taraka," Giles said.

"It'd be a pretty damn big coincidence otherwise," Buffy said.

And I'd done my part. I excused myself and headed into the halls. I nodded to Logan and Duncan. Logan smirked and saluted, while Duncan smiled.

He smiled. Good. He might make his way through this with no more psychological damage than normally comes from being a member of the Kane family.

That was one thing I didn't have to worry about.

One down. Dozens to go.


	40. Line of Fire

Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay. I really haven't been feeling very well recently. But my health's more or less back to normal now and I should be writing now for a while.

Disclaimer: _Buffy _belongs to Joss Whedon, _Veronica Mars _to Rob Thomas.

X X X X X

The day returned to normal, normal of course being defined as "normal for Sunnydale," not "normal for the rest of the world."

I wasn't going to intervene in Patrice's little demonstration of out-of-control gunplay when Buffy went to her law enforcement seminar. As near as I could tell, I hadn't done anything that would change that, and it was kind of important for the Willow/Oz relationship.

I'd already messed one up. And whether I thought everything that came after was important or good, I still wanted to see Xander and Cordelia get together.

It wasn't going to happen today, though. For a few hours, I hoped, I'd get to stop thinking about how to manipulate people for fun and profit.

But this is me, remember. A few hours? Try thirty seconds.

I ran into Sheila after I left the library. "Heya, manhunter," she said. "Got something you might want to pass on."

"What?"

"Got a vampire in my building. Saw him beating up some guy last night."

I frowned. "Describe the vampire."

"Dark hair. Kinda good-looking, if you like the Johnny Cash look. Not my type."

"Did you get a look at the man he was beating up?"

"Yeah. Scarred face. Only seemed to have one good eye." Ah. So that's where Angel stashed the guy. I guess killing a human outright in cold blood was still beyond their purview, so Angel's keeping him confined while they hash out what to do with him. Glad that's not my decision.

Actually – it's not a decision I'd have a hard time with. I'd say kill him and be done with it. I'm not a violent person, and I have issues with the death penalty (except for Aaron Echolls), but this guy had tried to kill Buffy already and would sure as hell give it a second try if he got the chance.

"So how'd you know the dark-haired guy was a vampire?"

She looked at me like I was stupid. "Saw his face. No one's that deformed."

We stopped. "I have to tell you something," I said.

"Anything, manhunter. You know that."

"You need to understand why I'm not going to report that particular vampire to the slayer."

"Why?"

"She already knows about him. He's one of the good guys."

She frowned. "I thought you said vampires were evil by definition."

"Everyone except him, apparently," I said. "He has a soul. Cursed with it by some gypsies – I'm not completely sure of the circumstances, but I've run into him a couple times and he seems completely trustworthy. But he's the only – and let me stress that word, only – exception."

"So why was he beating the guy up?"

I knew why, but of course I couldn't tell Sheila. I'd extended myself by telling her about Angel's curse, but I didn't want her to either worry about a vampire in the building, or worse, try to kill him. (I didn't know how far she'd gotten in practicing her witchcraft, and while she wasn't likely to telekinetically shove a stake through Angel's heart, she was perfectly capable of throwing one.

So all I could say was, "From what I know he doesn't beat people up just for the hell of it. He's on a redemption kick. Probably the one-eyed guy was some kind of villain. Maybe a demon, maybe another vampire. You'd have to ask him."

And Sheila gave the answer I hoped she would. "'snot going to happen. If you say he won't try to eat me, I trust you, but he better not look at me funny. Or my mom."

"If he does," I said. "Don't fight. Run. When he was one of the bad guys, apparently he was really one of the bad guys. Not someone you want to meet in a dark alley. Or a well-lit alley. Or the main road. Or at all." Then, changing the subject, I said, "How's the witchery coming?"

"Pretty good. Rae says I've already gotten above where she can teach me. She's trying to find someone she can trust to take me further. A lot of witches with power apparently kind of lose control. Ain't going to happen with me, manhunter. Losing control almost got me killed. Not going to happen again." Then she grinned. "'sides, it's more fun when you keep hold of yourself. What's the point in knocking things down if you can't slow down enough to appreciate it?"

"That's always been my motto," I said.

"You knock things down?"

"When I have to."

"Yeah. But I bet my way's more fun."

X X X X X

Once I got out of homeroom, Logan and I ran into each other. "So," he said. "Got any plans to enter the corporate world?"

I looked at him oddly. "Fun as it might be to give the Kane parents collective apoplexy, I think I'm going to have to decline the company's offer. I already know what I plan to do for a living and it has nothing to do with counting beans."

"Beancounters get no love."

"Only if the beans they're counting are coffee beans." He snorted, and I said, "So, how about you?"

"How about me?"

"You said you had plans to observe a career yesterday. So. What did the illustrious Logan Echolls decide was worth his time?"

"By pure random chance, I got landscape designer."

"Ah. So you'll be doing the gardening."

"Tempting, if only to see the look on my father's face. 'Hi, Dad. I've decided I'm going to be planting roses for a living. And possibly mowing lawns. When I do the Kanes' garden, I'll be sure to pass them my regards.' No, alas. I lack the patience for it. And I have a low tolerance for fertilizer."

"Then why do you spew so much of it?"

He said, "I knew the second that came out of my mouth that it was an irresistible straight line."

"Always happy to live down to the expectations of others," I said. "I gotta be me."

"And the world is grateful that you took on the job. You spared someone else the responsibility."

I frowned. "You know, I can't tell if that was a compliment or insult."

He mock-saluted. "Which is exactly the way I intended it. If you get bored during today's career presentations, look me up. You may be many things, Mars, but boring isn't one of them."

Boring? I sometimes feel like I'm living the old curse, "May you live in interesting times." I could do with some boring.

Still. A question I ask myself sometimes is, would I want to go back to being the Veronica I was before all of this happened – before Celeste Kane told Duncan I was his sister, before Lilly was killed, and way before I got shanghaied to Sunnydale. And the answer is, no – provided Lilly was still alive to enjoy it with me. I'd give up who I was in a second to bring her back, warts and all.

I'd have to be careful about expressing that, though. Here it could get me an unsolicited visit from a vengeance demon. Not that I knew one way or the other whether a vengeance demon would be able to override the Adversary. I was thinking probably not, but I wasn't about to risk it.

Should prove fun during the Wish, assuming I, and things, ever got that far.

By the time the job fair actually started, I was heading away from it. If nothing else, I figured, I could hide out in my "office," or go to the school paper's office and do some work there. Photographer for the most part, but Sunnydale's journalism department wasn't quite as hierarchical as Neptune's. Everyone had their assignments, but everyone also pitched in where necessary – especially when it came to proofreading articles.

Spellcheck was nice. It was not proofreading. Fortunately, Duncan agreed with me on this. Every article was spellchecked and then proofread/copyedited twice before it saw the light of day. This prevented embarrassing mistakes, such as the one we nearly sent out with a picture of the captain of the football team labeled "dummy head."

It's a journalism term. I doubt the captain would have appreciated that.

(I also doubt he would have tried to beat up Duncan Kane. The rest of us didn't have quite so many protections. I'd say he wouldn't have beaten me up either, but given where we were living I wasn't about to make book on it.)

As I said. Headed away. Unfortunately, the best laid plans and all that. I ran into Principal Snyder as I rounded a corner. "And where do you think you're going, Miss Mars?" he asked.

"Heaven, if I pray and eat all my vegetables," I said.

"Doubtful," he snorted, leaving open the question on whether he was insulting me or the concept of heaven. "Anyway, you have a career fair to get to."

"And nothing to do," I said. "My recruitment pitch was yesterday. Today, I have nothing to do."

"Hardly. Children with nothing to do are against school policy. You just head back to the career fair and pick a career. My advice to you would be short-order cook."

I forced a smile. "Thank you for your advice. I promise to value and cherish it."

"I doubt that seriously," he said. "Now get going."

Unable to think of any creative way to stall, I started walking. Damn. Unless I had a heart attack, I was going to the career fair. And Snyder wasn't making things any easier. (In fact, I believe "making things easier for the students" went against his religion. Assuming he had one. Hell, Gregory House had more of a spiritual side than Snyder did.)

He watched me walk all the way back down the hall, presumably on the theory that I would bolt if he didn't keep an eye on me the entire time. That he was right doesn't make it any less annoying.

Of course, he wasn't following me. And there was nothing saying that once I got to the student lounge I had to stay there.

In fact, if I saw anything remotely approaching a female cop with a gun fetish or a Willow and Oz meet cute, I was going to beat landspeed records getting out of there.

X X X X X

All things considered, I probably would have been better off faking a seizure, decking Snyder, or spontaneously developing the ability to teleport; anything to avoid _that _place _then_. I didn't have the chance to sprint out of the lounge; I didn't even have the chance to yell "watch it!"

I saw Willow and Oz having their discussion.

I saw Logan nodding to me across the lounge.

I heard a loud voice saying, "Buffy Summers," looked around, and saw Patrice just starting to pull out a firearm.

I yelled, "Gun!" Everyone started looking around wildly.

Hell, maybe I could stop even Oz from getting hit.

The gun went off as Buffy shoved Patrice's hands towards the ceiling. Everyone started running around, screaming and panicking.

I started grabbing people and shoving them towards the exit hallways. I couldn't see Logan for a second; then I saw him doing the same thing at the other end of the room. Psychotic jackass he may be, but he's always had a strong aversion to seeing innocent people hurt.

Willow and Oz, unfortunately, were too far away for me to be able to do anything to help them.

Second gunshot. "Move!" I yelled. "Move, move –"

Buffy kneed Patrice in the stomach. When, a few seconds later, I saw the fake cop pull out her second gun and point it at Buffy, I knew it was time to stop helping other people and start helping myself.

The lounge was a lot emptier as Buffy ran for cover. I moved into the hallway and (reluctantly) told people to go tell both Snyder and the police. No doubt Snyder would find some way of blaming this on Buffy, but even borderline incompetent and corrupt authority was better than no authority at this point.

Buffy yelled "Get down!" and started running.

Well, you know this scene, almost. Oz had already pulled Willow down to the floor after I screamed, so the bullet that would have hit him bounced off the far wall. Another shot rang out and I watched the rest of the scene play out the way it had in the show; my presence had apparently been somewhat helpful.

Never mind that I hadn't wanted to be here in the first place. More and more I was getting nostalgic for the moderately authoritarian but reasonably competent Van Clemmons.

Buffy and Patrice played cat-and-mouse for a few seconds, then scuffled again. At this point Kendra ran past me and kicked the fake cop's third gun out of her hands, whereupon she grabbed Jonathan and started backing away from the two Slayers.

Right towards me.

She didn't seem to even notice that I was there.

Okay, borrowing the terminology from _Speed_, pop quiz, Veronica. An assassin with a hostage is coming towards you. You have the chance to maybe slow her down, but she has a knife to the hostage's throat.

What do you do?

_What do you do?_


	41. End of the Line?

Author's Note: Hi guys! Miss me?

Disclaimer: Veronica Mars belongs to Rob Thomas, Buffy to Joss Whedon, and the storyline and "Sheila Kelly" to me.

X X X X X

Well, the first thing I did was not panic. My adventures in fending off Spike and the bugman notwithstanding, I'm not action girl and I don't pretend to be. If Buffy or even Xander were here, they'd charge forward and try to take Patrice down. Me? I don't even have my taser, and all my holy water pistol is going to do is get the woman wet. Might startle her for a half second, before she slit Jonathan's throat.

Or possibly mine.

The second thing I did was watch her carefully to see if she had any clue I was back here. She didn't seem to; hell, if she kept walking backwards the way she was, she'd smash right into me.

Which might be something of a solution to the problem, but it would also be very risky. That knife was too close to Jonathan's neck for me to want to take that chance.

Think, Veronica.

Got it!

I hope.

She didn't know I was back here, but she'd collide with me in about four seconds if I didn't move. If I flattened myself against the wall, or ran in front of her, she might do something with the knife. An itchy trigger finger might also indicate an itchy blade finger; in any event, it wasn't something I was going to take a chance on.

If I remembered correctly, Patrice got about halfway down the hallway before throwing Jonathan down and taking off. My being where I was would interfere with that. So . . .

I moved, in the only direction I could. Further down the hall. Apparently she was making too much noise to notice me scrambling backwards behind her. Good. A stroke of luck. I could use one of those.

Hell, I could use a whole tennis match full. But I'll take what I can get. Neither Buffy nor Kendra said anything, Willow was too busy looking after Oz, and Jonathan's attentions were, understandably, elsewhere. There was no one else in sight.

Knock major wood here. Because this would be a particularly bad time for Snyder to burst through the door behind me. And Lamb -- hell, he'd probably assume I was the perpetrator.

There. She just threw Jonathan to the floor. She was turning around . . .

And now Patrice was flat on her face. My outstretched leg had something to do with that. And before she could get up, or maybe take me hostage, Kendra had her foot on the woman's back. Jonathan said, "Was that a demonstration?" as he shakily moved away. Buffy was checking on Oz.

So did I.

And of course, right then is when Snyder burst in. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

X X X X X

No matter how hard he and Deputy Lamb tried, though, they couldn't pin what happened on me or Buffy. There were too many witnesses to testify otherwise. They started out with "what are you doing, assaulting a law enforcement officer?" but half a dozen people, from Jonathan to Oz (before he was taken away by the paramedics) said that the bogus law enforcement officer had started it; when Logan came back and said the same thing, they officially threw in the towel.

As they hauled Patrice away, in handcuffs -- Kendra had long since disappeared, presumably back to the library -- I walked over to Logan and said, "This the kind of excitement you had in mind?"

And, with a serious tone in his voice, he said, "Hardly. You okay, Veronica?"

What, you mean apart from trying to run a universe minus omnipotence and with only partial omniscience? (And yes, I realize that's an oxymoron.) "Yeah. All things considered."

"What were you doing, getting in that nutjob's way like that?"

"You know me," I said. "If there's a wrong place and a wrong time, I'm there."

"Well, try to avoid that in the future," he said, still seriously. "This place would be a whole lot less fun without you."

"Why Logan," I said, still trying to keep things light. "If I didn't know better I might think you actually meant that."

"I do," he said. "Oh. And if anyone asks, I ducked and covered. Specifically, if my _father_ asks."

"No one will learn of your heroism from me," I said.

"Why Veronica," he said, deliberately mocking me. "If I didn't know better I might think you actually meant that."

"I do," I said.

X X X X X

Of course, the rest of Career Day wasn't cancelled; that would have interfered with "the orderly running of the school." I suppose we should have counted ourselves lucky that we were given five minutes to catch our breaths before being told to disperse. (And that Oz was allowed to go to the hospital rather than simply being given a Band-Aid by the school nurse and told to walk it off.)

Still, everything after that was a decided anticlimax. Of course, a 6.2 earthquake would have been an anticlimax after the morning's events.

When Sheila caught up with me, she punched me in the arm. "Ow," I said. "What was that for?"

"'sfor trying to get yourself killed, manhunter," she said. "I haven't learned resurrections yet. Try not to die, okay?"

"Not in my immediate future," I said. "Oh, and resurrections? Ask Rae about them. From what I know, they're something to stay away from."

"Relax. Wasn't going to. Still would've missed you, though."

Rubbing my arm, I said, "And you expressed it so well."

"Did you expect me to cry and hug you? You've got the wrong girl, manhunter."

"Not one for crying?"

"Not even to impress guys," she said.

"Doesn't matter. I appreciate it," I said. "Really."

Sheila gave me an odd look. "That all it take to impress you? Just keep watching me. I do a lot of not crying."

X X X X X

I knew there was a Scooby meeting after the attack; in the original timeline, this was where Xander and Cordelia had told them about the bug man. But then, Buffy and I hadn't spent an hour or so hiding in the basement, either.

I wasn't invited to this one; either that, or Cordelia was taking the day off from being Giles' messenger bee. Either way, nothing more supernatural happened before I left to go do some paperwork at the office that afternoon.

"So," Dad said casually the second he walked into the office, a few minutes after sunset. "Anything interesting happen at school today?"

"Same old same old," I said. "How was your day?"

"Veronica –" he said reproachfully. He knew. Of course he knew. I'd known he would know, and he probably knew that I would know.

"What?" I said. "I can't have an interest in how my father's day went?" I shook my head sadly. "They grow up so quickly."

"Veronica," he repeated. Okay, now he seemed genuinely irritated. Time to knock off the banter.

"It wasn't as big as it seemed."

"A fake cop starts shooting up the student lounge, you helped capture her, and that's not as big as it seems? Veronica, why didn't you call me?"

"Because you're not the Flash," I said. "By the time you could have gotten down there it all would have been over."

"And afterwards?"

He was worried about me, of course. Hell, I'd been worried about me. There was nothing in my deal with The Adversary that said that I was immune to being killed between now and the time I had to make my big decision. Presumably, if I'm killed, I won't have lived up to my end of the deal.

I wondered about what would happen if I were made into a vampire. I'd probably still have to live up to it -- whatever I still existed --

Brief digression here. The Buffy universe seemed to divvy what made you you into three parts: Body, mind, and soul. A vampire had your body and mind, but not your soul. They always made a point of saying that the vampire "wasn't you," but I always thought that was kind of oversimplified. A vampire is very much you. It's a mostly sociopathic version of you, but it's still you in a lot of ways. Whatever demon takes you over clearly doesn't maintain its own personality; it might take yours and twist it, but it doesn't seem to find things in you that aren't there. For further details, please contact the vampire Willow.

Harmony the vampire, for instance, sure as hell still thought and acted like Harmony.

Given that, I doubt the Adversary would let me back out just because my soul happened not to be inhabiting my body any longer. Which would make things very interesting.

And while my life at times seems to overflow with interesting, that particular iteration? Not so much good.

Okay. Digression over. I hadn't been traumatized. I told him as much. "I didn't have time to be." I said. "Really. I'm okay."

He looked into my eyes in that way Dads do to see if maybe I was feeding him a line. After a second, he realized I wasn't. "Okay," he said. "I believe you. But try not to do that, okay?"

"Try not to save the day?"

"Try not to put yourself in a position where you might get killed."

"So you're giving me permission to drop out of school! Yay!" I jumped up and down and grinned like an idiot.

"Veronica --" Still, the point was made. This was Sunnydale. There were no really safe places.

I was amazed that he hadn't said to hell with it and simply left, taking me with him. Yes, no place was really safe, but there were a whole lot safer places than Sunnydale.

Those places were known as "everywhere." Possibly excepting the vicinities of erupting volcanoes, the middle of war zones, and Challenger Deep _sans_ bathysphere.

I wondered if the Adversary had anything to do with that. No way for me to live up to my end of the bargain from the middle of No Horse Town, Idaho.

Note to Adversary, if you're listening: I'm not interested enough for you to put in an appearance. Keith Mars is not in the least bit stupid, and protecting me is kind of eight or nine of his top things to do with his life. So let me just take it for granted that you've done something to keep me here, okay?

"Veronica, what? You didn't raise me to run like hell at the first sign of danger. And running at that point might have gotten me shot in the back anyway. If I'd been on the other side of the room, I'd've been the first one to say, let Lamb throw himself into harm's way. But she was kind of backing towards me at the time. Sometimes, the line of fire finds you."

"I'd rather that not be literal, sweetie."

"You and me both."

Right then, the phone rang. "Manhunter?" Sheila said, somewhat breathlessly. "Good. Hoped I'd find you there if you weren't at home. Got some shit here you might want to take a look at."

"Mystery?"

"'sno mystery," she said. "I think you and I both know who around here's capable of kicking a door down and dragging people off."

I looked over at Dad, who nodded and headed into his office.

"Who got dragged?" I said automatically, mentally kicking myself. Stupid Veronica. Stupid, stupid Veronica.

"That good-guy vamp you told me about. Didn't get a chance to see a whole hell of a lot -- I ain't stupid -- but I sure as hell heard what was going on. Sounded like someone was getting their head knocked in."

"Did you go down and take a look?"

"Yeah. No one there. Not the vamp, not the guy he was dragging, nothing." Damn.

That meant that Spike had Angel -- and the cyclops.

And tonight was the night of the new moon, and the ritual (while it had some prep time, if I remembered) could take place anytime after sundown.

_And now that I'd changed things around, Willy the snitch wouldn't have any idea where the church was_.

Hell of a way to lose a bet.


	42. Follow the Dotted Line

Disclaimer: Rae Mistwood and Sheila Kelley are mine. Everything else belongs to either Rob Thomas (_Veronica Mars)_ or Joss Whedon (_Buffy_ et al).

Author's Note: WML, finally over in another part. Maybe two. Long, yes; but an important part of the show, no?

X X X X X

Throwing up one's hands and giving up? Not really in my vocabulary. Still, if I was to say that the possibility of losing my bet with the Adversary didn't have something to do with the speed and urgency of my reaction, I'd be lying.

And while I've never been one to cavil at lying to people, lying to myself? I try to avoid.

Okay. Think, Veronica.

First thing to do: Getting out of Mars Investigations. Hard to at least try to save the day if I'm stuck here typing up case notes on Dad's latest bailjumper. (There's a reason he has me to. Dad's handwriting is tolerable, but his note-taking style? The guys who invented the Klingon language would have a hard time figuring it out.)

I also couldn't stick around to answer questions from Dad, either. Right now he was likely to lean on the side of keeping me here, where he could keep an eye on me.

Sheila was still on the other end of the phone. "You're having an academic crisis."

"What?"

"Work with me, Sheila," I said. "You need my help desperately."

She was no dummy. " 'scool. You need an excuse. Right. This Shakespeare paper's giving me a hard time."

"And damn if it isn't due tomorrow." I paused, then said, "Thanks."

"'swhat I'm here for, manhunter."

I hung up and knocked on Dad's office door. "Come in," he said. "Oh. What is it, Veronica?"

"I have an academic emergency."

He frowned. "I didn't hear the town's academic emergency sirens go off."

"They're in for repair. Look. Sheila needs my help on a _Macbeth_ paper -- she's having trouble coming up with an argument."

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,  
And then is heard no more. It is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing," Dad declaimed.

I hadn't chosen _Macbeth_ by accident. Dad's not really an academic, but he's fond of that play. "So is that a yes, or a no?"

"Just as long as you're not writing it for her, you can go," he said. "And as long as you're not meeting at her apartment."

I gave a shudder that wasn't entirely faked. I had no desire whatever to meet Grace Kelly again. "No plans to go inside her apartment at all," I said. "We'll work somewhere else. And, do you really think I'd write someone else's paper for them?"

"Depends. How much are they paying you?" I gave my best glare. It was, to some extent, killing me to have to banter like this, but if I didn't, Dad would figure out something was up. And now was not the time to try to explain what was going on.

Okay, no time was the time. But now was worse than most.

"Not enough for that," I said.

"That's my daughter. Hold out for the big money," he said. "Go. Just call me if you're going to be late."

I got.

X X X X X

The first call I made when I got to the car was back to Sheila. "Yeah?"

"I'm clear. Stay near the apartment. Try to avoid your mother." I didn't want her to be trapped in her bedroom -- actually, never, but definitely not now.

"'snot a problem," she said.

Now came the first part of my developed-on-the-fly-oh-my-god-I-hope-it-works plan. "Have you studied tracking spells?" I asked, crossing my fingers.

And toes.

I would have crossed my eyes if it wouldn't have likely gotten me wrapped around a telephone pole.

"Yeah. Never cast any. Don't have the materials I need."

"What do you need?" She explained it. "Thanks. Leave that up to me," I said. "Stand by."

I hung up and placed my next call. "Raven's Magic Emporium," came the voice at the other end.

"Rae? Veronica. I need your help." I told her what Sheila needed.

"That's for a fairly complex tracking spell," she said when I was done.

"It's a fairly important situation. Someone was just kidnapped preparatory to some kind of dark ritual, and we need to track them down. It can be done any time after sunset on the night of the new moon." Close timing, but in the original timeline Giles had puzzled this out the morning or afternoon of Patrice's attack on Buffy anyway, so it was in the past, not the present.

I could hear the puzzlement in her voice. "I thought tonight was the night of the full moon. Stupid Sunnydale High calendars. Anyway, if Sheila's going to do this, she's going to need me to walk her through it."

"Would you?" I asked.

A semi-mock sigh from the other end of the phone, and then, "Sure. But only because you're a good customer and, if this is as important as you say it is, it's probably not something you want to have messed up."

I gave her Sheila's address, hung up, and placed my next call.

"Miss Mars," Giles said. "What can I do for you?"

I explained what Sheila had told me. When I was done Giles said, "It's probably too much to count this as coincidence. Remember that dark ritual we were discussing?" I allowed as I did. "It requires Angel's presence on the night of the new moon. We need to find where that ritual is taking place, and we need to find it quickly."

"I didn't realize _that_ part of it," I lied. "Still, I figured that anyone kidnapping the only good vampire in existence probably isn't up to much that could be called good. I'm having a friend get ready to cast a tracking spell."

"That should be a great help. Tell me when and where and we'll all be there as soon as we can."

Hmmm. So at this point he didn't know Angel's address. The only one I knew for sure did was Xander -- and me, of course, though I could hardly claim coincidence as brilliant detective work. I told him where and hung up.

Me, I was there five minutes later. Sheila was nowhere in sight.

I was just starting to get worried -- a process that took all of about three seconds, this is Sunnydale, after all -- when I heard her say, "Hey, manhunter. Over here." She was shadowed in the door of Angel's apartment. I walked over and she said. "Sorry for the disappearing act. Mom walked in and I didn't want her to see me."

"I understand."

"Magic book's upstairs, though. Was about to go upstairs to get when Mom came in. Can't get it now, obviously."

Shit. At this point? Waiting, not so much an option. And I'm not exactly built to kick down doors. I'm the short blonde outcast _without _the superhuman strength.

Not like we could do anything until Rae and Buffy and crew showed up, anyway. "I don't suppose there's any chance you have it memorized?"

She just looked at me steadily. "I told you. I'm more into the break it/knock it down side of magic. You need someone to punch a hole in the wall, I'll do it." She smiled slightly. "Shit, manhunter, I might not even use magic for that. But tracking down I'm going to need the book for. Sorry."

"Not your fault," I said. "Still, we need that book."

"I ain't getting it," she said. And the look on her face told me that she wasn't going to, even at gunpoint.

Rae showed up three minutes later. I explained the problem, and then said, hoping against hope, "I don't suppose you know it from memory?"

"I wish I did," she said. "Most of what I have memorized is ritual magic. This isn't one of the exceptions. Sorry." Walking over to me, she said, _sotto voce_, "Do you want me to go up and get the book?"

"The door's probably locked," I said. "And you probably don't have superhuman strength any more than I do."

She said, "Have you seen these doors? You could probably blow them open using your breath."

"I'm trying to get it open, not go through it like a knife through cellophane," I said.

A couple of minutes later, Buffy and her entourage came in -- the Scooby gang, plus Kendra. Before anyone else could say anything, Kendra said, "And what are they doing here?" pointing to Sheila and Rae.

(Once again, I'm not going to do the accent.)

I bit off the urge to give a flip response and said, "They're here because they're the only ones who know how to track down Angel in the time we apparently have remaining. Unless you have a superhuman nose as well as strength I'd suggest you be quiet and let them do their job."

Angrier than I usually get, I know. But I didn't really have a whole lot of time here to stop something very bad from happening, and I didn't want to put up with the perfect Slayer's attitude at the moment.

"Hold it," Xander said. "Sheila Kelly? _You're _the one who's going to track down Angel?"

"'less you want to call the cops, yeah," Sheila said. "Turns out I'm a witch. Summers. You're the vampire Slayer the manhunter told me about?"

Everyone except Rae looked at me. I said, "I didn't give out names. Just that one existed."

"Two," Willow and Xander said in unison. Cordelia just rolled her eyes. She really was quite good at that.

"And in any event," Giles said, "None of that is important that the moment."

"Damn straight," Buffy said. "Now that all that's out of the way, can we get on with this?"

"Love to," Sheila said. "But my spell book's up in my apartment. And so's my mom."

"And the reason you're not getting it is why?" Willow asked.

"The reason's none of your business, Rosenberg," Sheila said. "But I ain't going up there."

Everyone started talking at once, except for Rae, who seemed to have long ago mastered the art of when not to say anything. I wouldn't have talked except the consensus seemed to be "jump down Sheila's throat" and it's not like I was going to let her fend off the attacks by herself. Not that she really needed my help.

Finally Buffy whistled loud enough to get everyone to quiet down. "Thanks," she said once the place had stopped resembling the trading floor of the NYSE. "This book. Is it in your room? And does it look like every other spell book I've ever seen?"

"Trade paperback," Rae said. "Why --"

"No!" Sheila said, as Buffy charged up the stairs.

I held out an arm. "Don't," I said.

"But --"

"Well hash it out later. I promise."

She closed her eyes. "Yeah. You're damn right we will."

I walked halfway up the stairs, only to have to dodge a middle-aged man running down trying to pull up his pants --

One of Lamb's deputies. None of the ones I was familiar with from Neptune; no Sacks, no Deputy Leo. Under other circumstances, I would have probably thought it was funny. He kept going out the front door, heedless of the people staring at him.

A half minute later, Buffy came bounding down the stairs. I stopped her. "Don't talk about anything you saw. Don't ask questions now or ever. And try not to spread it around."

"Wasn't planning to," she said. Grace Kelly stuck her head out of the apartment, but a glare from Buffy sent her back in. Sheila was out of sight. Good. One less thing to deal with.

Dozens to go, unfortunately.

"Good," I said. "Do your best to make sure no one else says anything, either." It didn't take a genius to figure out that I wasn't exactly worried about Willow, Xander, Giles, or Rae, and the idea of Kendra gossiping was ludicrous.

Buffy caught my meaning immediately, and promised to threaten Cordelia with severe bodily harm if she blabbed. Good enough.

We went downstairs. Over towards the broken-down front door of Angel's apartment, Rae was helping Sheila to regain her focus. I held Buffy back for a second. "Veronica --" she began, a bit impatiently.

"No," Giles said. "The ritual will take a couple of hours at least to set up. That doesn't give us much time, but, as Miss Kelly is the only one who can safely track Angel, it behooves us to give her some time to be able to perform the spell correctly. It will do us no good at all if the spell fails, or leads us in the wrong direction. And it will do Angel even less good."

Buffy nodded, apparently getting it. I got her impatience, believe me. No, it wasn't someone I loved being tortured, but then, it wasn't her life directly at stake either. I took the book from Buffy, walked over, and handed it to Sheila.

Then I stepped back.

Willow leaned over my shoulder. "Who is the woman with Sheila?"

"Her name's Rae Mistwood," I said. "She's co-owner of the magic shop in town. She's been helping Sheila train."

Giles said, "I didn't realize she was, herself, a practicing witch."

"She's not," I said. "But she's been a good teacher."

"We'd better hope so," Cordelia said unexpectedly.

"And you got your expertise on magic where?" I asked.

"I'm just saying --"

I knew what Cordelia was saying. "You want to run? There's the door. Maybe you'll be able to outrun the apocalypse if you get a good enough head start." Sheila had begun casting the spell. She was holding onto a stone of some kind with one hand, and throwing some kind of semi-sparkly dust in the air with the other.

"Maybe I should," she said. But she didn't move. "Look, I get that she's the best we have -- But still, it's not exactly filling me full of confidence."

"It's this or nothing," I said. "Take your pick."

Sheila'd had her eyes closed. Right then, they snapped open. She clutched onto the stone and, for just a brief second, gave a typical Sheila I'm-happy-with-me-and-to-hell-with-the-rest-of-the-world grin. "I see the trail," she said. "All we gotta do is follow the dotted line."

And then, for the first time since I'd realized that Willy wasn't available for convenient beating up and betrayal, I was confident, too.

We'd find Angel in time.

And then the second thoughts kicked in, like they always do. Finding Angel meant finding Spike.

Looked like it was time for my first big Scooby Gang fight.

Where am I going, again?

And why am I in this handbasket?


	43. Line Forms to the Left

Disclaimer: Rae Mistwood and Sheila Kelly are mine. Everything else belongs to either Rob Thomas (_Veronica Mars)_ or Joss Whedon (_Buffy_ et al).

Author's Note: _WML_ will be done by the next chapter. Then away from continuity for a bit.

X X X X X

Buffy wanted to walk, but I pointed out that we had four cars available, and that if we were going to be involved in a major fight against vampires, maybe it would be better for those of us without superhuman strength to be as rested as possible.

(Four cars: My LeBaron, Giles' Citroen, Rae's old station wagon, and Queen C.)

She conceded the point and we all piled in. Even Cordelia grudgingly allowed a passenger.

Xander, I noticed. Maybe all wasn't lost there quite yet. (It was going to be oodles of from trying to bring them together, though. Maybe I should lock them in a closet or something.)

Rae and Sheila stayed in front, with Buffy; by necessity (and a car that would have had a hard time doing 50 miles per hour if pushed off a cliff), Giles brought up the rear, and Kendra rode with him. That left me and Willow. Yeah, we could have taken fewer cars, but sadly, I think the odds were that our vehicles would be safer in front of a vampire-infested church than Sheila's apartment building. Sunnydale wasn't particularly crime-ridden, except for the vampires (see Mayor: DC Safe Except for Murders!), but that didn't mean there weren't sections of it best kept out of if you could avoid it, even in daylight.

"So," Willow said, with mock enthusiasm as we all pulled out, "You all psyched for your first big fight?"

"Surprisingly, no," I said. "I try to make it my policy to avoid punching people who might be able to rip my neck off with one hand." There was one minor good aspect to this, though: Instead of two members of the Order of Taraka to deal with, we only had one. Not that One-eye wasn't a hell of a fighter. But he wasn't "Norman Pfister from Blush Beautiful Cosmetic" plus Patrice in one one-eyed package.

Assuming that Patrice hadn't simply killed everyone down at the station and walked out the front door. (No, I wouldn't be cheering if Lamb got brutally slaughtered; the man's a useless sycophant, but I don't think he quite deserves a violent death. At least, not right at the moment.)

Down, pessimism. Down, I say.

"In Sunnydale, you know, not quite as easy as it might be other places," Willow said.

"I've been slowly becoming aware of that," I said. "So, my plans were to take my gun and fire at anything with fangs. Sound good?"

"You meant your holy water gun, right? Because, vampires, not so much with the dying when you shoot them with bullets."

"I'd like to test that theory," I said. "I mean, I can sort of get why one wouldn't die, but I'm betting a couple of bullets to the head or kneecap might slow them down a tad."

"Do you have one of those guns with you?"

"No. I'm not licensed. I plan to rectify that." No, Dad didn't actually want me carrying, no matter that he'd given me basic lessons on how to handle an assortment of firearms. But I figured that holy water pistols might not be enough -- and tasers were still a bit outside the Mars family price range, here in 1997.

A moment or two of silence while we drove around a couple of corners; then Willow said, "So, Sheila's really a witch?"

"Unless you think she's yanking our chain right now, yes," I said/

"Not the way I meant it. Sorry," Willow said. "She still, you know, scares me a little, but she doesn't seem like she's going to bite my head off. I meant, I was looking into that a little myself -- I know someone else who's kind of a mystic type, a little, and there's another one whose mother was a witch, and while I may call my mom that some days, it's really not so much literal."

Pile on, why don't you, universe? If I was translating from the Willow accurately -- never a completely safe assumption, once the babbling began, and this was a prime example -- she was wondering how to get started as a witch.

Maybe a bit early -- her interest really seemed to heighten only when it was necessary, after Jenny Calendar's death -- but not ridiculously so. Willow's curiosity, I suspect, would have led her into magic whether Ms. Calendar had been killed or not.

Still, now that her curiosity was piqued, I sure as hell wasn't going to send her out to learn it on the streets, or from Amy Madison. I was guessing by this point Amy was already deep into her own studies, but as far as I know the first anyone learned of it was with Xander and the love spell. In any event, she was every bit the sociopath her mother was, even if it took her longer to show it.

"Can we talk about it once we're past the possibility of being disemboweled?" I asked.

"Oh, this is Sunnydale. We're never past that possibility."

I glared at her for a second as we came to a stop sign, and then put my eyes back on the road.

We really didn't talk about much else along the way. It took us another ten minutes to get there -- maybe five miles from Sheila's apartment, all told. When we got out, we were a block and a half past the church, down a side street. "No point in letting them know we're coming any sooner than we have to," Buffy said. "Kendra --"

"You and I should go in alone," she said. "That way we have a better chance of stopping Spike and Drusilla without having to worry about their safety."

At the moment? Kind of an appealing sentiment. As I keep telling everyone, I'm a detective, not a fighter. Even as many times as Philip Marlowe got involved in scuffles or whacked over the skull by some mug with a rod,

Still, this was my mistake that needed to be fixed, even if no one else knew it, so I really couldn't back out now. Not that that would have done anything more than likely get me killed, anyway. The neighborhood of the abandoned church was definitely in the bad part of the "not a whole lot of town" that was Sunnydale, and it was after dark.

And not that I was seriously considering it. Buffy and Sheila were my friends, so even if tonight didn't possibly have a bearing on my immortal soul, I wouldn't cut and run. But I don't think it's wrong of me if, inside, I was tempted just a little.

Confrontation? Big fan. Used it a lot. Physical confrontation? Not my specialty. I'm not a coward. I never have been. But I'm not a hand-to-hand combatant, either. I know basic self-defense, which against any vampire who's been alive more than twenty minutes isn't going to do anything other than get me eaten five seconds slower.

"Does anyone want to stay with the cars?" Buffy said. "You, Ms. Mistwood? You, Veronica? This isn't really either of your fight, you know."

Rae shook her head no, and I said, "Giles said this was a possible apocalypse. I'm not backing out now."

"Sheila?" Buffy asked.

Once again Sheila's grin came out for a second. "Possible violence. 'scool. I'm not going anywhere."

As we walked slowly towards the church, I went up next to Sheila and said, "Remember everything I told you."

"Relax, manhunter," she said quietly. "'mnot stupid. I'm tough and they're tougher and I ain't that confident in my ability to do magic that I think I can take whatever comes to me. But just because I'm not overconfident doesn't mean I don't think I can handle it." A pause, then, "Besides, I got a rep to maintain. And you and me and Summers got a conversation coming." 

"Buffy?"

"Yeah. She's the one went breaking into my apartment."

And pretty much on cue, Buffy turned around and gestured for us to be quiet. Not rudely, just matter-of-factly. I didn't think the vampires inside were keeping a particularly careful lookout based on what I remembered from the original timeline; Kendra's entrance had startled pretty much everyone. Still, no real point in tempting fate.

That one, I know from personal experience, if you substitute "Adversary" for "Fate." I realize that using the word "wish" too casually in the Buffyverse would get you in trouble; who knew that it would apply in my universe as well?

Word of warning: "Bet" can get you into even more trouble than "wish."

Anyway, Buffy opened the front doors gingerly, but no one leaped out to attack us. Kendra seemed disappointed.

The front doors did not open directly into the main area of the church; there was an antechamber, small, but the inner doors that led to the "big room" were closed. (Can you tell I'm not a regular churchgoer? I've never quite been an atheist – kind of hard to be a complete skeptic in the Buffyverse – but my religion has never been especially organized. Neither Mom nor Dad were regular attendees, and me? Maybe a couple of times in my life, and strictly for the social reasons.)

Buffy and Kendra walked up to the (closed) interior doors and listened for a second, looked at each other, then back at us, and flung them open. I took a deep breath and followed them in.

The scene inside was familiar – it looked like we'd gotten there at around the same time (in terms of where Angel and Drusilla were in the ritual) as Kendra and the cavalry had on the first run-through. Maybe a bit later, I couldn't be sure. Angel and Drusilla were in their torture-chamber-meets-operating setup, dagger through their joined hands, and glowing slightly.

There were about a half dozen vampires plus Spike and the Cyclops. One-eye headed for Buffy with an audible growl, but Spike said, "No. That bitch is mine. People! Don't let them disrupt the ritual. I will be very cranky if they do." Cyclops seemed disappointed, but his disappointment didn't last long as Kendra kicked him in the stomach. He grinned and hit her in the shoulder. Spike charged right at Buffy, who had already started charging at him; nice how these things work themselves out sometimes.

Still, in the first go-round, Kendra had attacked Spike, and Buffy had duked it out with Patrice. A minor change, but still.

The other vampires, of course, needed no prodding, and came at us. Giles, being the only really experienced fighter (Xander may have logged a truckload of field time by season five, but this wasn't season five) took the lead, but that left plenty for the rest of us.

Unfortunately.

I sort of lost coherent track of everyone else, but Sheila hung back for a second; Rae was still talking to her. I took out my holy water pistol – full, but I didn't exactly have unlimited ammo. I fired it at a vampire who was going after Cordelia; as she yelped from the holy water burn on her face, Giles shot his crossbow directly into her heart. Another vampire swept it from his hands a half second later, then tried to assault Giles, but found this difficult because of the Willow that had suddenly sprouted from his back

Sheila closed her eyes, and then opened them again. She muttered to herself for a second and then threw a punch at the nearest church pew.

It splintered, leaving several highly useful shards of wood. "Take one," she said, picking them up. "And move. Don't want to hit you by accident." Physical magic. Highly useful.

As I picked up a shard and moved to one side – mostly being ignored, so far, and happy for it – Rae came with me. "Don't you need to stay with her?" The battle in front was something of a tumult. Spike was absolutely determined not to let Buffy past him, and Kendra was having a pretty hard time with One-Eye.

"Not now," Rae said. "At the moment, I'd just be in her way."

I couldn't hear what Sheila was saying, but as I saw the makeshift stake she threw bury itself in the chest of a startled and soon very dead vampire twenty feet away, I would have bet the mortgage it was "find the target."

This got everyone's attention. Xander and Cordelia, I noticed, were pounding away at one vampire, which unfortunately was out of my range.

Not out of Sheila's, though, though this time the wooden shard hit it in the _back_ of the chest -- not quite deep enough to reach the heart.

Cordelia -- bitch though she always was -- showed her "layers" by diving to the ground behind the vampire. Xander was quick to pick up on the slapstick opportunities this presented, and promptly shoved the vampire backwards, where he tripped over Cordelia --

And drove the "stake" the rest of the way into its heart. When Cordelia stood up, she seemed to be bitching about the effect the dust had had on her clothes.

And what was I doing, you may ask? Well may you. Rae and I, for lack of any opponents, were creeping around the edge of the church, edging towards the altar where Angel and Drusilla were set up. Spike was too busy keeping Buffy busy, the other vampires didn't have the emotional investment, and the Cyclops just seemed to be there for the hitting.

Which, it must be confessed, he was good at.

I had managed to squeeze off a couple of more bursts of my hot-sauce-infused holy water along the way, hitting once. Didn't do more than distract the vampire, but at the moment? I'd take whatever I could get. Amateur vampire killers don't get to be choosers.

Of course, technically Buffy was an amateur, too. But you get the point.

I gestured for Rae to stay back -- I wasn't going to get her in any more danger than she was already. The vampires had ignored her, but that was largely because they were already busy. None of them had directly attacked me, either. As far as blessings went, that was a pretty good one.

Kendra seemed to have gotten the upper hand in her fight with One-Eye, but then the cyclops hadn't made the mistake of ripping Kendra's shirt that Patrice had.

I was worried for a second that Drusilla would see me coming, but all of her attention was focused on the dagger and the energy she was draining from Angel -- and in any event, she was still too weak. After edging as close as I could, I dashed to the altar, pulled the dagger from Angel and Drusilla's hands, and threw it as far away as I could. The glow vanished.

Drusilla called for Spike, who jerked his head back in my direction, growled, blocked Buffy's next punch and threw her into the pews.

Then he growled and stalked towards me.

Okay, now. Who out there thinks that maybe I didn't think this through quite as much as I should have?

Line forms to the left.


	44. Crossing the Finish Line

Author's Note: We have reached the end of _What's My Line_ and it will be a few parts at least before we begin to approach Ted. Please put your tray tables in an upright and locked position and do not get up until the last line has been reached and the fic has come to a complete stop. As always, thank you for flying Mediancat.

Disclaimer: 'tain't mine. Except for Rae and Sheila (mostly) and the storyline.

X X X X X

I thought frantically for a second, then remembered the shard of wood Sheila had handed me, and quickly got it out.

Spike snorted. "You think that little splinter's going to bother me?"

"No," I said. "But it might bother her."

And I turned and held the shard at Drusilla's heart. She was still weak from the operation. She wouldn't be so for long, but by the time she recovered the situation would be over.

I hoped.

If it sounds like I was being fearless and heroic, I'm telling it wrong. I was scared as hell.

I also wasn't entirely sure whether I was bluffing. One of the things I've picked up in my time being a detective is how to lie successfully. I can pretty much pull it off consistently with anyone, except for Clarence Weidman (who's naturally suspicious of everyone anyway) and Dad (who do you think taught me in the first place?).

Spike stopped in his tracks. Then, in a low and deadly voice, he said, "You'd damn well better not hurt her, bitch."

"Stopped you from hurting me, didn't it? Now back off."

Right then, the fighting ended on the main drag of the church. One-eye was unconscious, Willow was nursing a head injury, Cordelia was cursing about the state of her clothing, and all the other vampires were either dead or had made the percentage decision to run for the hills. Either way, it was Spike vs. everyone.

Spike was as smart as I remembered, unfortunately. He noticed the lack of a melee about five seconds after I did, looked at Kendra and Buffy stalking towards the altar, and moved towards Angel, grabbing the exhausted vampire around the neck before Buffy or Kendra could reach him. Was vampire strength capable of simply ripping someone's head off? I didn't know and right now was hardly the time to be experimenting.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," Spike said.

"That if you hurt Angel your life is going to be measured in seconds?" Buffy said. By this point, everyone else had gathered behind them. Rae was on the floor tending to Willow, whose injury didn't seem particularly severe. Sheila had another makeshift stake in her hands; a slight nod from me and she let her arms relax, though she seemed ready to "find the target" again at a moment's notice.

"I don't see what we're arguing about," Kendra said. "Surely this is a small price to pay to be rid of two such monsters."

Spike said, "Yeah, but it's not a price she's willin' to pay, love, and everyone else in the room knows it. And I'm wagering that if you try to come up here she'll tackle you before I can so much as twitch a muscle." No one said anything. "So it seems what we have here is a standoff."

I knew it wouldn't be one for too long. While I had no idea of the timeframe, I knew that Drusilla's weakened condition was still because of the spell and that within, probably, hours at most she'd be strong enough to shoulder her way out of a sizeable pile of rubble dragging an injured Spike behind her. Me? Not so interested in dealing with that at the up close and personal level. Even if "See my eyes, be in my eyes," wasn't likely to affect me, Drusilla didn't need to hypnotize me; she could just rip my throat out. Once again, a lack of superhuman strength proving something of a problem.

I should really look into that.

Assuming I survived the next five minutes.

"You do realize we are highly unlikely to trust you to simply release Angel should we get -- our compatriot--" Good save, Giles; no need for him to know my name, bad enough he knows my face -- "To release Drusilla."

"Which is why I called it a standoff. Because while you and you," he pointed to Buffy, "Might keep your word, the Caribbean Queen back there's just itchin' for a chance to send us both off to our just rewards. So here's the way we're going to play it. She leaves. And you," he pointed to Rae, "Can take the redhead out of here." Spike's tone was equal parts light and deadly. The outward banter of the words did not nearly match the lethal glances he was shooting my way. I presumed that if Drusilla got so much as a splinter in her, that Spike would do his level best to kill me.

I think I've had enough listening to fear for one night. I'd like to listen to hope for a while.

Hope? Hope? You out there, buddy?

"It might be wise for everyone else to leave as well."

"I'm not --" Xander protested.

"Xander, go," Buffy said.

"Well, hell, I'm not going to argue twice," Cordelia said.

"Of course not," Xander said. "You might ruin your hair. More."

"What's wrong with my hair?" She shrieked and ran out.

Xander shook his head and left the room. Possible hope. Again, assuming I survived the next five minutes. Kendra left only on a glare from Giles; she dragged One-eye with her. Good. Because what the next ten minutes didn't need? A berserk assassin.

Apparently it's not just a bad thing that Sheila was so thoroughly trained by her Watcher.

Sheila, however, wouldn't go. "Nuh-uh. Don't trust him. Bastard tried to kill me."

Spike squinted theatrically as though trying to see something in the distance. "Right," he said. "That is you. The one in the alley. How's tricks?" Sheila growled. "And that ends that. Now back to business," he said, turning to me.

"I know, I know," I said. "Hurt her and you'll rip my intestines out through my ears and use them to string your guitar."

"Well, no; I don't play the guitar. But I like the way you think, otherwise."

"Spike," Giles said. He and Buffy and Sheila had clustered together, about ten feet from the altar. Everyone was visibly tensed to move on the slightest provocation. "How can we resolve this?"

"I was hopin' you could come up with a few ideas," Spike said.

"We could kill them all," Drusilla said. "I don't like this one."

I don't think I've been more terrified since Aaron Echolls had me trapped in that refrigerator.

Drusilla was talking to me.

"What did I do?" I said.

"You are," she said languorously. "I can't feel you at all and I don't like that, not one little bit. It's like you don't belong here and even the Slayer belongs here. Even though she is a very naughty girl."

Damn the Adversary. Right now, I'd rather be vulnerable to magic if it meant that Drusilla wouldn't find me the least bit interesting.

Anywhere but here: Game, or way of life? Discuss.

"Do you want me to bring 'the Caribbean Queen' back in here?' Buffy asked icily. "I'd like to have this end without having anyone killed who doesn't need to be. But if that doesn't work, I'll settle for you going your way and us going ours."

"For as long as it takes us to go our separate ways, anyway, sure," I said.

"How about a simple countdown?" I said. "We both back off on the count of three, then Buffy comes and gets Angel down, then you do the same for Drusilla."

"And what's to stop you from killin' Dru in the process?" Spike said.

"Our word," Giles said. "And the fact that Angel means more to -- us alive than the two of you do dead." I noticed that slight hesitation. I'd bet that even though Giles didn't have the instinctual dislike for Angel that he did after Jenny Calendar's murder, that if it were he and Kendra in this room he probably would have, reluctantly, told her to go to town.

"Don't do it, Buffy," Angel said groggily. "Kill them now."

Spike cuffed him in the back of the head. "Hey. Who said you could talk?"

"Seems fair," Angel said. "If Dru can join in, I should be able to."

"I don't the see the percentage in lettin' you encourage them to kill me. Simmer down." Spike said.

"Then you be quiet as well," I said to Drusilla with as much bravado as I could muster.

"Do what she says, Spike," Drusilla said. "She's like a book with no words. It frightens me, it does."

Say.

_What_?

_I _frighten _her_?

It was all I could do, even given everything else that was going on, not to burst out laughing. I couldn't entirely suppress a snort, which made Spike look at me warily, and Buffy and Sheila confusedly. Giles, you'll be pleased to learn, kept his gaze steadily on the situation as a whole. That Watcher training comes in handy, apparently.

"Your word, Slayer?" Spike said.

"My word."

"And yours, Watcher?"

-- yes."

"And you . . . You?" Spike gestured at Sheila as he spoke.

Sheila shrugged. "Sure. 'slong as you hold up your end, I'll hold up mine. Hurt the manhunter there and the deal's off."

Spike looked at me. "The manhunter?"

"Long story," I said. "And one we really don't need to get into now. Or ever." This was not a time to end a running gag with "Apparently not that long."

"Right then," Spike said. "Your word?"

"Three minutes ago I was going to count myself lucky if I lived past midnight," I said. "I won't hurt your girlfriend."

"Why, thank you," Drusilla said with, apparently, genuine courtesy.

You know, I honestly think in coming up with her Joss Whedon created the second best genuinely insane character ever. Only the Joker has her beat.

And not by much.

Note to Adversary: Not a challenge. Not a bet. Please don't take it as such.

Of course, it was a whole truckload easier to admire Drusilla's insanity when you were doing it at a distance -- like, say, another universe. Here? Not so much. I don't think there is such a thing as a safe distance, in this case.

Maybe the moon.

Maybe.

Back to the action: Spike said. "Fair enough then. You have my word, assumin' it means anything. One. Two. Three."

We both slowly, hesitantly, moved -- I brought the wooden shard down to my side, and Spike removed his arm from around Angel's weakened neck. Fits and starts all the way around, but eventually neither of us was within fifteen feet of the altar. Spike had wisely moved so that he was well away from Buffy, Sheila and Giles. Smart move. But then, no one ever said he was stupid.

(In fact, we might have been better off if he had been. He was much smarter than Angelus, and a damn sight more able to hold a coherent conversation than Drusilla. One of the most worrisome phrases in the Buffyverse? Spike gets bored.)

"Your turn, Slayer," Spike said.

Buffy walked to the altar, keeping one eye on Spike and one on Angel. "How're you doing?" she said as she started to cut him down.

"Much better, now," Angel said. "I still think –"

"I know," Buffy said. "But you came out of it alive. That's the important thing." She got him down and half-carried him back to where everyone else was standing.

"I suppose there's no chance you're going to leave?" Spike asked as he started to do the same for Drusilla.

"Eventually," Giles said. "We have no desire to have you behind us as we exit."

"Afraid I might stick a knife in your back?"

"Among other things."

Spike nodded. "Smart man. I like you."

"Enough to leave Sunnydale forever?"

He snorted. "I didn't say I liked you."

"I can live with that."

"For how long?"

"As long as I need to," I said.

Sheila took a step forward and said, "'sis starting to sound like a threat."

Looking at Sheila, Spike shook his head sadly and said, "Damn shame I didn't nick you in that alley. You'd have made a hell of a vampire."

"Keep walking," Sheila said, her normally quiet tone becoming, if anything, even quieter.

Note to self: Sheila might not have quite have been the psychopath she'd liked to pretend she was. But, if her tone of voice meant anything, she could still be damned dangerous.

Spike read the same thing I did, supported Drusilla as they made a wide arc around the rest of us, and headed for the exit.

After about fifteen seconds, we did the same.

When we got out to the street, Xander and Cordelia were there. So was Kendra. Spike and Drusilla weren't far away, and Kendra was watching them the whole way. One-eye was sitting up groggily, leaned against a utility pole, a bit further down from where Spike was half-carrying his girlfriend.

Cordelia spoke first. "In case you're wondering what I'm doing here, it's because geniusboy over here decided to make sure you were safe, and like an idiot I decided not to let him die."

Xander did a balancing gesture. "Listening to you whine, death. Listening to you whine, death. Tough call." Cordelia's glare might not quite have burned holes in steel, but aluminum? Puddle of molten metal.

Kendra stepped forward. "And I did not leave because I did not trust them not to try and harm you." She gestured towards Spike.

And spoke loudly enough for him to hear, apparently, vampire hearing being a bit keener than the average person's. He said, loudly, "Keepin' my word here."

Then he turned to One-Eye and said, "Contract ain't up, you know. I paid you to kill the bitch. Kill her."

He walked away as One-Eye stood up and came towards us.

Oh, lovely.

Buffy quickly yelled out, before the cyclops could get to us, "Keeping my word, too!" Then she turned to Kendra. "Get them."

Clever. Really.

Kendra actually grinned. "It would be a pleasure." She raced down the street, deftly dodging around the Tarakan assassin, whose mission, after all, was to kill Buffy, not her.

Spike said, "Oh, bugger," and sprinted away as fast as he could.

In the meantime, One-eye was half-dazed and had had his clock cleaned already twice in about 24 hours. So, while the rest of us backed away – Giles supporting Angel -- Buffy did it a third time. If the assassin got in more than two good blows, I didn't see them.

In the meantime, Sheila had moved up next to me as we watched the fight. "Always up for some quality violence, huh?"

She said, "'sa victory lap, manhunter. Nothing more than a squash."

"Squash?"

"'sright. You don't like wrestling. Need to fix that."

While I tried to process that, Buffy finished off One-eye; almost before he hit the pavement, she turned to Giles and said, "What do we do with him this time? 'cause, no offense, Angel, but keeping him in your apartment didn't exactly work last time, and I don't need my very own pop-up assassin showing up every few days. That kind of comic relief I don't need."

"Much as I hate to say it," I said, "It might be time to bring in the police."

"And charge him with what?" Xander asked. "Malicious lying on the pavement?"

Cordelia snapped her fingers and said. "Mugging!"

"From the looks of things, we mugged him," Angel said.

"Maybe that's the way Don Lamb would see it if you told the story," Cordelia said. "Me, though? The Chase family might not be up there with the Echolls and the Kanes, but we're not that far away. He'll pay attention if he knows what's good for him. He knows what happened to the guy that came before him when he didn't listen."

"Which would be my father," I said.

"Yeah? And?"

No point in getting upset. "And nothing. Best idea I've heard yet

X X X X X

And she was right. Surprised at Don Lamb kissing up to the power elite? Who, me?

Of course, that lasted about 24 hours, after which One-eye and Patrice broke out of jail -- but, just like the mainstream universe, Giles had already managed to contact the Order, and the contract had been cancelled. After their escape, they both left town.

Willow was fine; a couple of stitches and a nasty bump, that was pretty much it.

Buffy told me later that Kendra had come back to the library later that night, bumped, bruised, and smelling strongly of _eau de sewage_; it won't surprise you to learn that she caught up with them in the vast Sunnydale underground and that they beat the living hell out of each other.

Inconclusively. Of course.

Eventually Spike and Drusilla had crawled off into the darkness. Literally. It might not have been the temporary paraplegia of the original timeline, but Kendra'd been pretty sure Spike had been nursing a badly broken arm by the time the fight ended.

Of course, everything doesn't wrap up in neat little packages; the timeline had been altered, Xander and Cordelia weren't together, Giles still wanted me to find "Epimetheus," and Willow was for some reason pressuring _me_ to help her learn more about magic.

The hardest part?

Trying to come up with an explanation for the evening's events that would satisfy Keith Mars. Trust me, lying to Keith Mars is not something anybody does well. Me? He reads like a book.

_Fun with Dick and Jane_.

Still, we crossed the finish line, of this episode, anyway, and we managed to cross it in one piece.

Not bad, considering.


	45. Nonintervention

Unwinding, thoughts, and a conversation. Nothing too strenuous for the moment. They've earned a break, no?

Disclaimer! All mine! All mine, I say!

I wish. Only the storyline, Sheila (mostly), and Rae.

X X X X X

Dad was suspicious of Sheila for a while, not entirely buying my explanation of how my shirt got ripped, but he couldn't find anything conclusive to prove that I hadn't been just helping Sheila with a _Macbeth_ paper.

He didn't go quite so far as to call the school to check with the teacher, for which I was profoundly grateful. He was busy with work, anyway -- not just Lilly's murder, though that was always important.

And then, of course, there was my tracking of "Epimetheus." And I suppose, if I'd had a strict work ethic, I would have immediately confessed to Giles, except that confessions of this sort are usually followed by "explained all," and I can't explain all.

I can't even explain some. Not that they'd likely believe me if I could. "Hi, where I'm from you're a TV show?" Not likely to do anything more than get me beaten up, committed, or simply given a wide berth (which I'm used to, of course. Sucks, but, again, time travel really isn't an option).

And that wasn't even counting in the Adversary's condition; this speculating I'm doing right now is more or less just for the exercise.

Speaking of, the Adversary kept a low profile in my dreams. Good for him. Despite his power I might not have been inclined to give him the respect due his position.

Lilly showed up again. After all, just because I'd come closer to getting killed than at any time since Aaron Echolls locked me in that refrigerator was no reason to, you know, cut me a break or anything. Dad still had yet to track down the prostitute Abel Koontz spent the night he'd been allegedly murdering Lilly with, and pretty much everything else there was in a holding pattern.

I suspected it would be for a while, yet.

One of the good things there, though, is that apart from my burglary of the Kane estate back on Halloween I'd been letting Dad take the lead in the investigation. And it would take a lot more effort for Clarence Weidman to put one over on Dad than on me. I wasn't under their radar, but I wasn't "shields up, red alert," either.

Trust me, always good to not be high on Clarence Weidman's list of "people to keep an eye on."

I also didn't tell Logan about my thrilling adventures, either. No point in worrying the boy any more than he already was. I also didn't let Buffy and friends know that he was the other one who knew about the supernatural.

Hey, a girl has to keep _some_ secrets.

Shut up.

Otherwise? Life gave me enough time to catch my breath.

X X X X X 

At least it wasn't anything demonic; no, the first thing was the discussion Sheila and Buffy and I had. I'm guessing I was there as moral support, but for whom I don't know.

Sheila wasn't one for coffee, and at this point she pretty much knew about the whole Scooby gang, anyway, so we had the conversation in the library after school a couple of days later, while Giles courteously kept himself in his office.

A couple of people came in looking for books, but at triplet glares from me, Buffy, and Sheila wisely decided to go elsewhere.

"I wouldn't have pegged you as the type for big emotional conversations," Buffy said.

"'You'd've been right," Sheila said. "I don't talk about what you saw. Only reason we're talking about it now is because you kicked the door down."

"I sort of had to," Buffy said.

"'m not saying I blame you, Summers. I couldn't. Someone had to. All things considered I guess I have to say I'm glad it was you. You get secrets."

"Oh yeah," Buffy said. "Speaking of --"

Sheila almost looked offended. "Already got people around here thinking I'm crazy. Don't really want to give them reasons to actually have me committed."

Buffy winced _very_ slightly at the mention of being committed. No one who wasn't up on the whole _Normal Again_ retcon would have had any idea that she might even have a reaction to the phrase, much less be looking for it; but it was there.

Possibly one of the other reasons she didn't care for hospitals, incidentally. Being involuntarily and unwarrantedly committed can tend to turn one off to psychiatry and the medical profession, I'd imagine.

"Unless you really are a psychopath," I said. "In that case, all bets are off."

Sheila smiled slightly. "Don't tempt me, manhunter."

Buffy said, "To get this conversation back on track -- "

"If you need it spelled out, then, no, I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Good," Buffy said. "And to be completely fair, I won't tell."

"And everyone else?" Sheila asked

"I don't think you need to worry about Giles," I said.

"Wasn't," Sheila said. "Don't really think Rosenberg and Harris're going to tattle, either."

"Cordelia."

"Cordelia."

"Yeah," Sheila said. "Chase. 'sweird she was there with you in the first place. Hard to think she's volunteering to go slug it out with vampires. Isn't she scared she might break a nail?"

"Cordelia's . . . willing," Buffy said. "Mostly. She knows and she's trying to help. She saw what was going on and she was able to accept it. Most people pretend they don't. I think you can trust her."

"About the supernatural, sure," Sheila said. "Gossip?"

"She won't," Buffy said. "Veronica and I asked her."

Asked wasn't really the right word. I'd invited Cordelia into my office, and Buffy was standing there to make sure she knew it wasn't actually a request.

"That's enough?" Sheila asked.

Buffy said, "Cordelia's got a ton of faults, but being a liar so most definitely isn't one of them. She said something on the order of, 'Please! Like I care what her and her mother do in their spare time."

Actually, she'd then gone on to say, "It's not like it's not obvious that a psycho bitch like her came from a psycho bitch mother, anyway," but Buffy and I had figured that telling Sheila that? Good way to guarantee a fight.

Sure, Xander might enjoy it, but not surprisingly, that's not really my priority.

Anyway, Cordelia had left rolling here eyes that we though she'd waste her time on something like that. I find myself quite able to live with the notion of Cordelia's disapproval; like I've said, it's open disapproval, and she's always been open about it.

(Anyway, "Grace" Kelly wasn't a psycho bitch, really; she was an alcoholic and probably a brick or two shy of a load, but nothing I'd seen or heard gave me any evidence that she was violent or heartless. Negligent, yeah. Bad parent, yeah. Still probably better than Xander's father.)

Sheila said, "Good. Case you were wondering if I might want to talk about it after today, I don't, I won't, and I probably never will unless you have me at gunpoint. Manhunter already knows about this. 'snot something I discuss. Ever."

Buffy said, "No plans. I like a big emotional discussion as much as the next gal, but shoving it down your throat's really not my style."

"Again, good." A minute or two of silence, and then, "Something else you wanted to talk about, Summers?"

"Magic."

A moment of silence, then Sheila said, "What about? I may have skills, but mind reading's not one of them. You want me to know what you're talking about, you're going to have to tell me."

"You can do it."

Before Sheila could respond, I said, "I think that's pretty much already been established. What do you want to know about Sheila's ability to do magic?"

"Whether she -- you'd -- be willing to help us, if we needed it," Buffy said.

"It ain't like I'm an expert on the subject," Sheila said. "If you need a witch, ask; I'll do what I can. But right now most of what I know about's knocking stuff down and throwing stuff."

"You kicked a church bench to splinters with one kick."

"Simple focusing spell," Sheila said. "Not hard, really."

"I think _I'd _have trouble doing that."

"Naah. Not like I'm hitting with the force of the Hulk or anything. And it ain't something I can do for a whole fight. Might get off one blow if I was slugging it out with someone. Not two." She stretched. "Still. You need help, you've got it. If I don't think I can handle it, I'll let you know. Anyway, a lot of magic can be done by anyone -- almost anyone," she said, looking at me.

"It's not my fault," I protested mildly.

"Actually, I can see times when that would be a big help."

"All I know is, I've watched a lot of TV. If this ever gets to one of those scenarios where I'm the only one not under the influence of some mad sorcerer's insidious spell, and it's up to me to save the day, my next option? Checking out flights to San Diego. Maybe Guam."

Buffy chuckled. "Let's hope Sunnydale never reaches that particular cliché," she said.

"Hello, ladies," came a familiar voice from the door.

We all turned to look.

Logan, naturally.

Since I didn't know if we were done yet, we all glared at him. "We're kind of busy here," Buffy said.

"Yes, I can see that. So, is today's research the cure for cancer or are you simply plotting world domination?" He paused and then added, "And, by the way, just for your information: The glares don't work on me. Noble effort, though. But I'm long since immune. The benefits of growing up the son of Aaron Echolls."

"You mean in addition to the money and the fame?" Buffy asked.

"Not quite the perks they seem to the adoring public," Logan said.

"I think I could put up with some of that," Buffy said.

Buffy, you have one of the few good parents _in_ Sunnydale at this point. Trust me. Not a trade you want to make.

In the meantime, Logan said, "Mars. While I have you here, I was wondering if we could reschedule this weekend's meeting."

"For when?"

"Sunday afternoon good? Say, around 2?"

I didn't have any active cases at the moment, discounting my search for Epimetheus.

I couldn't exactly discount that, of course. I'd been looking for this master manipulator for a couple of weeks now, and so far didn't have much to show for it except a couple of deductions.

I was fairly sure that Giles couldn't use magical means to track me down, but that didn't mean he couldn't have someone else use nonmagical methods --

Such as, say, Willow, whose technical skills might actually be of some help in that regard.

I hadn't quite painted myself into a corner yet. But it was getting more difficult to find an easy way to leap to safety.

Anyway, Logan was patiently waiting for a response. "That okay for you, Sheila?" I asked

"Have to check my social calendar. Think the Kendalls're having me and mom over for tea. Might have to reschedule."

"That would be a no," Logan interpreted.

"Think I don't like tea, Echolls?" Sheila asked.

"I'd be surprised if you knew how to spell it, Kelly," Logan said. He mock half-saluted, turned around, and left the library.

"Meeting?" Buffy asked.

"Logan knows about the nocturnal inhabitants of Sunnydale," I said. "He does not, however, know your place in fighting them though, like Sheila, he knows there is such a thing as a Slayer."

"Good, 'cause I think Giles is about to have a coronary. This Slayer gig of mine's supposed to be a secret. Right now I think the only people who don't know that I fight crime by night are Logan, our parents, and Snyder."

"No one'll be learning it from me," Sheila said.

"Nor me. Unless I really need to blackmail you. In that case, all bets are off."

Buffy said, "I thought we were friends," in a mock whine.

"Hey, business is business," I said.

"We done?" Sheila said.

"We done," Buffy said.

As we stood up, Sheila said, "You know, Summers, it strikes me that there are far worse people I could've gotten stuck doing the snacks with back at Parent-Teacher Night."

She walked out; I lingered behind to say to Buffy, "From Sheila? That's a compliment."

"I got that," Buffy said. "Really."

X X X X X

I parted ways from Sheila before we hit the parking lot. I had school paper chores to get to, today. For the _Neptune Navigator_,I'd been strictly photographer only. Here? Photographer, proofreader, occasional anonymous column writer.

I owed Duncan that much.

Our relationship was still the dictionary definition of "strained," but at least we had one, and we knew we weren't related.

He still loved me; that was one of the things that clearly hadn't changed in the universe shift. When I'd gone through this the first time -- well, it hadn't been until he'd known that we weren't brother and sister that he dared to allow himself to hope that the two of us could have a relationship again -- and it wasn't until Logan and I were well and truly broken up that he made a move of any sort.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, with the hindsight of several months (in my timeline, and this one), I can see that things were never going to work out with the two of us. Not that I didn't care for him, greatly; but ours was not a great all-time romantic love.

Assuming there was such a thing. This being the Buffyverse, I had my doubts.

He hadn't yet made any kind of move, discreet or otherwise. But I got the impression it was only a matter of time.

It's not like I was holding out for Logan, necessarily. I had no idea how to define that relationship, at the moment, but "romantic" wasn't it.

I was shaken out of my musings by a tentative hand on my shoulder. I turned around and found Willow Rosenberg standing there. "Yes?" I asked.

"Um, I was wondering," she said, "About Sheila and magic and how she learned."

Of course. By all means, let's begin the corruption of Willow Rosenberg several months early.

Well, better she learn it from me than on the streets.

In Sunnydale? Not an idle threat, what with Rack wandering about out there.

"You know, you could actually ask Sheila," I said.

"She's all big with the scary."

"And I'm not?" I said. "I'm going to have to work on my reputation. People are supposed to be afraid of me, dammit."

"Veronica --"

I sighed. "Okay. Look. I have some work to do at the paper -- meet me outside the magic store at, say, 5:30?" I'd get there by 5:25 and ask Rae to try to stress _slowly_ to Willow.

"Roger wilco," she said, and we parted ways as I turned a corner.

And grinned, for just a second.

Along this hallway, there was a janitorial closet.

Guess who I'd just seen entering one of them?

Damn. You guessed.

Good to know not _everything_'s on my shoulders.

Almost is bad enough.


	46. Younger and Far Away

Disclaimer: Joss created _Buffy_, Rob Thomas created _Veronica Mars_, I created Rae Mistwood and the storyline.

Author's Note: Still in between What's My Line and Ted. Attempting to advance the overall storyline, for a bit.

X X X X X

This much, at least, went like clockwork: I got to "Raven's Magic Emporium" (once again, Pete wasn't there) at 5:25, waited a minute for Rae to finish selling an -- of all things -- toad candle (I needed to ask what that did), and asked her to do what she could for Willow and magic.

Once I gave the thirty-second explanation, she asked, "So why do you want her slowed down?"

"Honestly? A reading of her personality. I think she genuinely wants to learn, but I'm not sure she's really ready for it yet." Maybe a slower introduction, carried on while Willow is younger and the apocalypse is far away, might help.

"I'll take your word for that," Rae said. "Really, though, I'm not a practicing witch. Sheila's already gone well beyond anything I can do; most of what I'm helping her with now is discipline and concentration."

"And are you helping her?"

She thought for a second and said, "Yeah. I'd say so. Though it's odd. She's definitely not interested in using them for selfish personal gain, unless you'd say having fun is personal gain. She's mostly interested in using them to damage things, and protect them."

"Protect them?"

"Shields. She's not quite up to them, yet." Hmmm.

"I've seen her 'find the target' and smash a bench with one blow," I said. "Seems like pretty good progress."

"Most of what she's learning is focused directly through her body – it's an easier kind of magic to learn. If she tried telekinesis, she probably couldn't even float a pencil." That explained why Sheila seemed to be progressing faster than Willow had – it was the kind of magic she was learning.

There were enough minor inconsistencies in the Buffyverse; I didn't want to introduce any more if I could help it.

Of course, part of the Adversary's point might be, indeed, that I can't help it.

Witness yon shy redhead walking through the door.

And the van dropping her off. Sure. At this point she might not have been fully dating Oz, but they were certainly exploring the possibilities (even though a large part of Willow was still holding out for Xander, that 'ship was never going to sail).

"Veronica?"

I nodded. "Willow." As she came in, I said, "You remember Rae –"

"Yes. It was kind of a bad time for full introductions, because, you know, imminent apocalypse, but still, nice to meet you," Willow said.

They shook hands and Rae officially said, "For the purposes of the business, I'm Raven Mistwood. Everyone calls me Rae."

"Willow Rosenberg," Willow said formally.

"Veronica tells me you'd like to learn something about magic?"

"If I can," Willow said.

"Well, there's a way to find out," Rae said. "Hold on a second." She stepped to the back of the store for a moment.

Willow half-whispered, "How did you meet her?"

"I needed someone to supply the holy water I use in my water gun," I said. "It was either this or the nearest church or synagogue, and honestly, it'd be kind of hard to explain to them what happened to the last gallon or so they gave me. 'Shot it at a vampire," while true, kind of lacks in the verisimilitude department. Rae, now, she wondered, but she believed; and that was the important thing." I really wasn't too sure whether the local rabbis and ministers would actually buy the vampire explanation. Just because you're open to one aspect of the supernatural doesn't mean you're open to another.

I did know that if push came to shove any religious celebrant was good for making it, as long as they believed. Wasn't too sure of the theological implications of that. But it might be helpful at some point.

"Makes sense," Willow said.

By now, Rae'd returned with the purple magic detection crystal. (I wondered idly if it had a more formal name – the Thaumaturgic Crystal of Nekhron the Dark, or something.) She said, "Take hold of this."

"Um, what will it do?" Willow asked nervously.

"Turn into a monster and eat you," I said.

"What?"

"Relax," I said. "It says how much magic potential you have inside you. See the way it's glowing?" Willow nodded. "That means that Rae has some magic ability. A bit more than the average person, but not enough to become a full-time witch." Look at me. Stick some tweed on me and give a British accent and I'll be a watcher in no time.

"Witch-trainer, now, that's a different story," Rae said. But she was grinning, at least.

"If you can't work full-time," I asked Rae innocently, "Can you at least pick up part-time work?"

"I'll check the employment section in tomorrow's paper and let you know," Rae said.

Willow still wasn't sure. I said, "But here, if you're nervous--" I took the crystal, and the glow faded quickly until all we were looking at was a junk of dull purple rock. Kind of pretty, but nothing you'd look twice at (unless you were told it was the Klopman Diamond, or something).

"No magic ability?"

"None. Good news is most magic won't work on me, either. I could drink a love potion – they do exist, right? –"

Rae said, "Yes. I don't sell them."

"And all I'd end up doing is quenching my thirst."

Willow nodded again. "I think I'm ready now," she said.

I handed her the crystal, knowing what would happen next. I had to fight the instinct to shade my eyes.

A half-second later I was wishing I hadn't fought the instinct. You could have used that crystal to light up the Astrodome. Astronomers on distant planets were probably wondering where the new star had come from.

Okay, I exaggerate. But not by much. We were all rubbing spots out of our eyes five seconds later, when I reached forward and clumsily took the crystal from Willow's hands. Immediately the light in the room dropped to the point where none of us felt like we were actively staring at the sun.

It did show me what level Willow was operating at, though. That was easily four times as bright as Sheila's glow had been, and if I remembered accurately, Rae had said that Sheila had the potential to be a "fairly powerful witch."

You already know what that makes Willow. "Um –" she began, several times, and then stopped.

Rae's jaw was scraping the floor as much as Willow's. "I take it," I said, though I knew the answer, "That you're impressed."

"Impressed. Awed. And a little scared," Rae said.

"Scared? Of me?" Willow said.

"I have never seen that level of power. Here or anywhere."

"So . . ."

"So that makes you, potentially, one of the most powerful spell-users on the planet," Rae said. "So it's not surprising that Sunnydale would have a surplus. But still. I was never expecting this."

"Powerful? Me?" Willow practically squeaked.

"Yes," I said. "Powerful. You. Good ol' Willow Rosenberg."

Rae seemed to have finally regained her bearings. I suppose it would be a bit of a shock – kind of like running a neighborhood boxing club, and having someone at the level of Muhammad Ali wander in. "I'm not even sure what I can do for you, other than point you in the right direction, teach you to focus, and tell you what to stay away from."

"Wow."

"That doesn't mean it's going to be easy," she said. "But with training and effort you could probably become one of the most powerful witches on the planet."

"Wow."

"You said that already," I gently reminded her.

"Well," she said. "I think I'm going to have to maybe give this some thought."

Rae said, "Remember, though: You need to take things slowly. A lot of the problems I've seen with witches come when they go too far, too fast. Sheila's staying controlled. If you decide to do this, I'm going to need you to do the same."

"If I could read up on it --" Willow said.

"I have a _Wicca for Dummies-_type book at home," I said.

"But I thought you couldn't do magic," Willow said.

"I can't leap tall buildings at a single bound, either," I said. (I leave that for my father.) "Doesn't mean I can't read about them."

X X X X X

"I'll read it tonight and get it back to you tomorrow morning --" Willow said as we left my bedroom.

"Relax," I said. "I'm long since done it. Keep it as long as you need." She reached down to skritch Backup's head. Backup reacted favorably -- always a good sign.

Right then, the front door opened. "Lucy! I'm home!"

While Keith Mars can do passable accents when he needs to disguise who he is, as a celebrity impersonator, he's a wonderful private detective. He sounded as much like Speedy Gonzalez as Desi Arnaz.

It always annoyed him that I refused to do an equally bad Lucille Ball impersonation.

But don't children live to disappoint their parents?

(Speaking of: Mom's somewhere out there. Dunno if I've mentioned this, but once bitten -- okay, bad word to use in Sunnydale -- once burned, twice shy. I would not be looking for her this go-round. The last time I knocked myself out bringing Lianne Mars back into our lives, she lied, kept drinking, used up my money, and stole from us before taking off for parts unknown, never to be seen or heard from again. I still love my mother. I just don't think I ever knew her.)

"Hey, you," I said as we appeared around the corner. "How's tricks?"

"A good magician never reveals his secrets," Dad said.

"I thought you were a private investigator," Willow said.

"That explains why I never get any bookings at the MGM Grand," Dad said, grinning. "Hello. Keith Mars. Veronica's father. And you are?"

"Willow. Willow Rosenberg."

Ah," Dad said. "Good to meet you."

"You too, Mr. Mars," she said.

"Just get the book back whenever," I told Willow when no one had said anything else after about fifteen seconds. "You okay to get back?" The sun was starting to go down.

She knew what I meant. "It's not that unsafe yet," she said. "A little early, you know."

"Yup."

After she left, Dad said, "Anything I need to know about?"

I sighed dramatically. "Yes. You've caught us. This is the beginning of our nefarious plan to control the world. It starts with lending books. Pretty soon it snowballs. Eventually all I'll need to do is walk up to the President and ask him for the guy with the football. And when that happens . . ." I did my best evil cackle and rubbed my hands.

"As long as you're a benevolent dictator, sweetie," he said. "So, you up for some of my famous tuna salad?"

I wrinkled my face. "You know, I've kept my ear out. And I have yet to hear anyone else refer to your tuna salad."

"Famous among those who count," he said.

"All three of us?"

"All three of us."

Me. Him. Backup. Just in case you were wondering.

I went and did what little homework I needed to do – quickly reviewed the math and did a worksheet – and then it was time to eat.

After I took a bite of the tuna salad – okay, it's not famous, but it really is pretty good – I decided to talk to Dad delicately about Epimetheus.

And when I say delicately, I mean that if I was a pitcher and my words were the baseball I just threw? Wouldn't have broken tissue paper. I have no intention of blowing my cover for this, much less my "wager" with the Adversary.

They would be both be, in a sense, suicidal. And while I've been accused at times of having an insufficient regard for my own safety, there's a difference between being a risk-taker and being an idiot.

I was hoping for some ways, essentially, to prolong the search; a couple of new angles I hadn't thought of. At some point I am going to have to report failure to Giles. I'm just hoping to postpone that day as long as possible.

"So," I began. "I have this case I need your advice on."

He looked at me, then suddenly reached across to feel my forehead. "No, it doesn't feel like you have a fever . . . "

I said, "Ha ha."

"What do you need?" he said more seriously.

"Someone at school hired me to see if I could track down someone who's been calling him," I said.

All traces of humor left his face. "I don't want you trying to find stalkers," he said.

I shook my head. "This isn't a stalker. Or if it is, it's someone who's well outside the normal definitions." I may not be a certified expert in the criminal code and criminal behavior, but I've done a lot of reading on it.

Doesn't everybody?

Then I gave dad a heavily edited version of who Epimetheus was and what she'd been doing – I didn't reveal any names, and I played down the parts that might make it seem like Giles was being stalked by an initialed government agency instead of someone with too much time on their hands.

Dad's mind wouldn't have leapt to the supernatural. Despite the evidence, his mind doesn't swing that way – and if the Adversary didn't have something to do with that, I was Kinsey Millhone.

When I was done, Dad said, "Hmmm. Odd behavior, definitely. One could say the world needs a few more mysterious strangers looking out for people -- but I wouldn't like it all that much if someone was doing it to me, even if everything they said seemed to be for my own good. There's also the matter of how this person was able to find out so much about your client and his friends -- and why they'd bother in the first place." He paused and said, "You're sure it's none of the friends?"

"Only one comes close to fitting the description," I said. "And she has an ironclad alibi." Okay, so Buffy and I didn't look that much alike, but if you were rounding up all short thin blonde women -- get your mind out of the gutter, please -- we'd both be part of the roundup.

Not that I really knew the hair color.

"That one public appearance could have been someone hired to play a part," Dad said.

"I know. The contact's been a woman every time, but there're no actual assurances that it was the same woman. Still, I'm operating on the assumption that it is the same person every time. Hear hoofbeats, expect horses, not zebras."

"Which works until you turn around and see that zebra staring at you," Dad said. "Still. Seems like this woman isn't leaving much of a trail."

"A handful of phone calls and a note in obviously disguised handwriting -- nothing physical that I can find out. No one at the library remembered seeing the woman before or since."

"Disguised handwriting?" Dad asked sharply. I cursed inside; I shouldn't have mentioned that. "People usually only disguise their handwriting if they have a reasonable suspicion that it might be recognized."

My grimace wasn't entirely faked. "I should have caught that. Thanks."

"So if you're sure it's not one of your client's immediate friends . . ." Dad prompted.

"Cast a wider net." I said.

"Exactly," Dad said. "Also, you said you had a camera set up?" I nodded. "Go back over whatever you have. I'm assuming you don't have hundreds of hours of recordings somewhere --"

"Six hour-tape, on a continuous loop. Anyone who looked promising I copied to the laptop hard drive. Nothing suspicious, unless you count an appalling taste for trashy romances suspicious."

"Go over what you have," he said. "And I'll look at it, too -- if you don't mind. I'm not looking to take this over --"

"No, I did ask your advice," I said. "An extra pair of eyes never hurts."

"Good," he said, smiling.

"But if you think I'm sharing my fee, you're crazy."

"C'mon," he said teasingly. "It's about time you gave your old man some money for a change."

"I'll get it to you tomorrow," I said.

He stood up and started clearing off the table. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe I'll even be able to come up with a way for you to catch this Epimetheus once and for all."

Yes, that would be my luck, wouldn't it?


	47. Restive

Disclaimer: 'tain't mine. Except Rae, and Sheila (mostly), and the storyline.

X X X X X

Fortunately, Dad didn't get back to me with any plans to catch Epimetheus within the next few days.

Fortunately, I say, because saying my plate was full was like saying Perry Mason won some of his cases. You couldn't have fit another scrap onto it with the Jaws of Life.

I'll give you what happened in more or less chronological order.

It started comparatively innocently: I got another case. Yes, I was trying to find Epimetheus, but even were that a straight gig it was more of a long-term project. I wouldn't be cheating Giles by taking on another client.

I'm not going to get into the details too much, except to say that any spare time I might otherwise have had, I was devoting to trying to track down a stolen laptop for a sophomore named Jonah Everson.

Seems routine enough. "Seems." But, honestly, when are any of my cases ever really routine?

X X X X X

Giles had asked me to meet him at my earliest convenience. I went in to visit him during a free period before lunch, after I spent about fifteen minutes looking for the computer. (Having a friend who knew something of the local petty criminal element was a help; Sheila said she'd keep an ear out for anyone bragging about a recent heist.)

"Ah. Miss Mars," he said as he moved out from behind the desk. "Fully recovered from our battle with Spike and Drusilla?"

"I don't think I got more than a few scrapes and bruises," I said.

"I wasn't referring to physically," he said. "There is a difference between simply being aware of vampires and actively going out and seeking them. Despite the "imminent apocalypse" I was truly not expecting you to get involved at the level you did. Not that I am not grateful for your and Miss Kelly's assistance."

"I've confronted vampires before," I said.

"One. At a distance. This was an entirely different scenario." That's right; he either didn't know about Logan, Sheila and my battle with the vamp during the rerun of _School Hard_, or he believed Aaron Echolls' propaganda.

I smiled a bit. "I appreciate the concern. But I'm fine."

He studied my face carefully, as if to determine whether I was lying. Ha! Better men than you have tried and failed, Rupert Giles. But thanks for playing. "Well," he finally said, smiling slightly, "If you do feel any effects, do let me know. I'm scarcely a psychiatrist but I should be able to help."

"I'll do that," I said.

"And Miss Kelly and Ms -- Mistwood, was it? The proprietor of the magic shop?"

"Not her real name," I said.

"I shouldn't think so," he said.

"Rae -- Ms. Mistwood -- doesn't seem like she's got any long-term damage, but she's not champing at the bit to get out there and get with the vampire-killin," I said, deliberately affecting an atrocious Southern accent. "But," back to normal, "Sheila seemed to enjoy herself."

"She's not planning --" Giles began.

"No. If she tried, I'd tackle her," I said. _That_, I meant wholeheartedly. "Just because she's picked up some magic along the way? Doesn't make her Charles Bronson. She knows this."

"Good," Giles said. "Just making certain." He took a deep breath and said, "Now, as for magic, it seems that Willow has taken an interest."

"I know," I said. "She came to me and I passed her on to Rae."

He frowned. "I wish you hadn't," he said. "Magic can be dangerous."

"So I've heard," I said. "But, honestly, knowing Willow the way we do, if I'd told her to go take a flying leap and you tried to forbid it, she'd go look it up anyway. She may not be the queen of the rebels when it comes to most things, but intellectually? Marlon Brando."

Another small frown. "I thought that was James Dean."

Score one for Keith Mars and his love of classic cinema. "I was thinking more of the movie _The Wild One_, where a woman asks Brando 'What're you rebelling against?' and his response is 'Whaddaya got?'"

The frown, as the saying goes, turned upside down. "True, that does fit Willow's personality. And I suppose at this point there's no way to undo what's already been done. I wish she or you would have thought to consult me first, though."

"Why?"

"I could have made her more aware of the dangers. Instilled a sense of caution," he said.

"And you think Rae Mistwood's just going to hand her a spellbook and some material components and tell her to go to town?" I couldn't keep the annoyance from my voice. Rae had worked wonders with Sheila, so far.

He paused, probably sensing my irritation, and said, "No. But -- despite how she seems to have helped Miss Kelly, whom, if you will forgive me saying so, was not known for her discipline and restraint, I do not truly know her. And neither does Miss Calendar -- whom, though not powerful enough to be a witch, certainly knows quite a bit about both the theory and practice of magic."

I said, "Would you like me to arrange a meeting between the three of you?"

"That would be splendid, yes," he said. Well, hell, why not? "And now, has there been any progress on Epimetheus?"

"I think you need a turn signal to change lanes that quickly," I said.

"Pardon?"

"Never mind. I --" foolishly, in retrospect, but it seemed like a good idea at the time -- and, by the way, have you noticed that most of the great human-caused disasters in history can be summed up with the phrase, "It seemed like a good idea at the time?" -- "asked my father to look at some of the evidence. No, I didn't give out any proprietary information. You will notice that I am not currently either in a mental institution or 500 miles away."

"So noted," Giles said wryly. "And I trust you, in this. It is your field of expertise."

I debated whether even to mention the handwriting, then decided I had to. I couldn't take the risk on Dad mentioning it to him -- let's face it, if Dad wanted to know who my client was, he could find out, and if I _didn't_ mention it, people would start to wonder why. And I doubted they'd be buying "I forgot" as an explanation. Sometimes a rep for being smart has its drawbacks, but it's too late to try to get people to buy a dumb blonde routine.

So I said, digging the hole I was in deeper with every word, "The handwriting on the note to Ms. Calendar definitely seemed disguised. So maybe you could go over people who know you and see who could be capable. _Besides_ Ethan Rayne," I said before he could draw a breath.

"I shall do so," he said.

"Anything else?"

"Not at the moment," he said.

And so I left and headed back to class.

X X X X X

After hurriedly gulping down some food, I spent most of my lunch period continuing my quest for the missing laptop. In between nailing down a couple of solid leads, and finding out that it wasn't quite as simple as just "person A took person B's property to make money off of it--" trust me, always the major reason for theft -- I had a brief conversation with Xander Harris.

He pounced on me a couple of seconds after I finished questioning someone. "So," he said. "Working on a case, huh?" 

"Your perspicacity never ceases to amaze me, Xander," I said.

"Huh?"

I sighed. "Never mind. What do you want? I'm horrendously busy right now."

"I was just wondering about the case you should be working on." Xander sounded irritated.

"Epimetheus is kind of a long-term project," I said.

"I wasn't talking about Epimetheus."

Ah. That explained the irritation. Lilly was on his mind. Possibly a bit of guilt given his current secret fling with Cordelia. "That's also a long-term project. How many times am I going to have to explain this to you?"

"She was your best friend," Xander said, as if maybe I needed that explained to me. "I can't believe this isn't your top priority."

Now I was starting to get annoyed. "Top priority isn't the only priority."

"It should be."

"You're not my superior officer, you're not my father, and you're not my boss," I said. "So don't try giving me orders." I turned to walk away. There was still time left in the lunch period to check in on a potential suspect in the laptop case. (No one I'd ever heard of, of course.)

After I'd taken a couple of steps, he said, "Veronica?"

Spinning, I said, "Yes?"

"Look. You didn't deserve most of that."

"Most of it?" I said, eyebrows raised.

"I think it's a legitimate question I asked. But it's also not fair of me to take it out on you when I don't like the answer. It's just – it's incredibly frustrating."

I've been through it before; I know how damn frustrating it can be. And that's one of the reasons I want to make sure it goes right this time.

You don't know how many times I've wanted to simply go to the Echolls estate, knock Aaron Echolls over the head, and drag him out to the nearest cemetery. Maybe after bleeding him. But, personally satisfying as that would be, it wouldn't get what I want out of this: I want Aaron found guilty. I want him rotting in jail.

Killing is easy. Justice is hard.

And let's never mind the prospect that some starstruck vampire might think it was the height of coolness to turn Aaron. My mind rebels at the idea.

Okay, my mind throws up at the idea.

So I simply told Xander, "I get your frustrating. You know I get your frustrating."

He sighed. "Yeah. Look. I'm not going to tell you to forget I said anything, but forget I was an ass, okay?"

"I'll just add it to the other nine hundred times," I said.

It took Xander a second or so to realize I was teasing, and he said, "Fair enough."

Behind Xander, I saw Cordelia round a corner. Seeing Xander, and then me talking to Xander, her face got happy, studiedly bored, annoyed, and then once again studiedly bored. She stopped and stared for a second.

Oh no; they weren't making out in closets yet. Not at all . . .

"Is that it? The quicker I finish this case, the quicker I can get back to work on the other two."

"We're done," he said.

I turned around to find that my potential suspect had fled for parts unknown.

Of course.

To quote the great philosopher: Grr. Arg.

X X X X X

I tracked the suspect down later in the day, but that was still a couple of hours wasted. In the meantime, Sheila had gotten back to me with the name of a student known for, occasionally, heisting electronics. So that was something.

In the meantime, there was one more significant conversation at school. I heard a voice behind me say, "Veronica?"

"Yes?" I said as I turned around.

I must have sounded as short-tempered as I felt, because Buffy took a half-step back and said, "Whoa. Someone sneeze on your Wheaties this morning?"

I said, "Sorry. Long and frustrating day, soon to become a long and frustrating weekend. Let's just say that right now I'm grateful for people like Cordelia."

"What on Earth for?"

"Because she _doesn't_ talk to me."

"You want me to turn around and walk away? I got nothing that needs your immediate attention." It was a genuine offer; she didn't seem in the least upset.

"No," I said. "Right now a stress-free conversation with my fellow SOB might help. And for the record, no, no one sneezed on my Wheaties. But so far that's about the only thing that's gone right. And you?"

"Well, I've had a better day than _that_," she said. "I just wanted to catch up and see how things were going." She held up a hand. "Not in a progress report sense. Giles is the one who wants those. I'm sure you'll catch that Happy Medium guy eventually --"

Despite myself, I laughed. "Epimetheus," I said.

"Epimetheus, then," she said. "Anyway, just thought I'd give you a Spike and Dru update and just see how you were."

"Spike and Drusilla?"

"Relax. I said it didn't need your immediate attention. Just wanted you to know that they seem to have dropped off the face of the Earth. No one's seen hide nor fang since Kendra saw them crawling off in the sewers."

"I'm guessing? Probably didn't decide discretion was the better part of valor."

"Believe me, in full agreement here," she said. "Can't track them down if they don't pop up occasionally. Way I figure is they've gone to ground while Spike waits for his arm to be all whole again. Even with vamp healing powers it's going to take a while."

"One-armed vampire still might be dangerous."

"Sure, against most people."

I said, "And you're not most people."

"Not for a couple of years now."

We walked and chatted for a few more minutes. It was nice, and relaxing, and completely frivolous.

Nice and relaxing.

And then it was over, and I had the rest of the weekend to get through.

X X X X X

My weekend, in summary:

The class, on Sunday, went fairly well. Sheila already knew not to clue Logan in to our extracurricular activities, though she did insist on showing him what she could do so far with her magic. Which turned out to be limited, in practice, to the three spells she'd already perfected: "find the target," "focus," and "witchfire." I know Willow usually didn't name her spells, but it seemed somewhat less unwieldy to actually do the D&D thing instead of saying "that spell Sheila used to focus all of her strength on one point." She was progressing faster than Willow had, but Amy Madison had been strong enough to cast an impromptu memory spell about a year after her Mom had died, so it wasn't like it was ridiculously out of the ordinary or anything.

Since Sheila had already brought up the subject, we discussed magic for most of the time. Its effects, those as could cast it, what anyone (save me) could do, what only witches could do, and why Logan shouldn't do any of it. Not that he was interested in performing any, though he was (reluctantly) impressed with Sheila's abilities. (Not that he actually told Sheila directly, of course. Our young Mr. Echolls wouldn't give her that satisfaction.)

By the time Monday morning rolled around, I was almost looking forward to going to class and doing nothing but listening my bored English teacher go on about something I read for the first time two (subjective) years ago, and hadn't really found all that interesting the first go-round. My mind definitely needed the break.

Of course, look what I'd done in the last three days: Looked for a stolen computer and Epimetheus, tried if I could find any more evidence to damn Aaron Echolls or clear Abel Koontz than I already knew about, done my homework and some office work for Dad, talked to Giles, Rae, and Jenny Calendar about the meeting he'd wanted me to arrange, and again to Ms. about magic and Willow and Sheila (she wasn't as worried as Giles had been), took a couple of photos for the Sunnydale high newspaper, ate (sporadically), slept (not much), and had a pleasant chat with Drusilla.

Oh? I didn't tell you about that?


	48. Unpredictable

Author's Note: Another one-off exemption from parodying _Buffy_ episode titles. But the title fit so perfectly I couldn't have used anything else.

Disclaimer: _Buffy_ characters belong to Joss, _Veronica Mars _to Rob, and the plotline to me.

X X X X X

Of course, by "pleasant conversation" I mean that that's what it was from Drusilla's point of view. From my point of view it was downright terrifying.

But, since it ended up with me not dead, severely injured, soulless, or Drusilla's new doll, I'm not about to complain too loudly.

Observe: At no time does the soul leave the body.

So how did this come about? Let me give you some background.

After the meeting of the Logan Echolls Magical Creature Coffee Hour broke up, we talked for a few minutes. I wasn't quite sure how to handle this, yet. He was still very much the Obligatory Psychotic Jackass a lot of the time, but living in Sunnydale and knowing about "those who hunt the night" had sobered him up slightly.

Plus, it seemed to have activated his protective instincts. Logan has a strong desire to keep those he genuinely cares about safe.

But, at this point, I was two years older than he was, in mind if not body.

This, fortunately, was something I could let ride for the moment. I'd leave it up to Logan.

After we parted ways, I headed off to the public library. First I spent an hour or so doing homework – this weekend, no special projects, and midterms happened after Christmas break – and then I did some digging in the microfilm section, and Lexis-nexis, for any potential extra leads to show that Aaron Echolls had killed Lilly, and Abel Koontz hadn't.

Not like I hadn't gone over the local press with a fine-tooth comb, but there was something in an alternative LA weekly from a few years ago that looked promising. (In short, Holly Takamura, a bit player in _Road to Dead_, had claimed to have had an affair with Aaron that turned nasty when it turned out she was recording the affair. He stopped well short of killing her, but then, he'd apparently been able to get the tape, so all he'd done was trash the place and shoved her into a wall. Definitely up Aaron's alley, and worth looking into.)

The library closed at 5 PM, and it was starting to get dark, so I decided to head home. Dad was actually doing some rare pro bono work, tracking down a deadbeat dad who'd been reported to be heading towards Sunnydale, so he wasn't likely to be either at the office or home.

Let's hope Dad catches him before the vampires do.

I was driving by the office on the way back to the apartment when I saw the light on inside.

Did I keep driving? Maybe call the cops? (Excuse me while I laugh at the latter suggestion. This version of Sunnydale's police was headed by Don Lamb. Pretty much the textbook definition of the blind leading the blind.)

Of course not. I decided to see if someone was breaking into Dad's office. (Not ridiculous. I could think of a handful of people who might be interested in what's in Dad's files. Myself more than occasionally included.)

I am, however, not that reckless. Running off half-cocked into a semi-darkened office? Usually a good way to get yourself hit over the head. And I'm not trying to break Giles' record for the four-minute concussion. So I walked up cautiously to the office door.

Which had not been opened with a key. It was hanging slightly open, and there was a nice groove in the doorframe where the door had clearly been yanked open with brute physical strength.

Keith Mars had raised no fools. If something strong enough to forcibly open a locked and fairly heavy door was inside Mars Investigations, little Veronica was staying outside.

I patted my pocket to be sure I had my holy water pistol – not that it would do me any good if, say, a Polgara demon was inside, but it was considerably better than nothing in this town. (More and more I was thinking that a _real _gun would be even handier. I wasn't exactly eager to test my theory about kneecapping a vampire, but it would probably be more help than a holy water pistol against anything but vampires.)

With my right hand on the gun, I took a couple of steps backwards towards the street and pulled out my cell phone. I'd just finished dialing and pressing send when I felt a hand grab my shoulder from behind and grab it hard enough that it hurt. "Naughty alien!" it said. "Someone might interrupt!" 

Drusilla, of course. She went on, "I was just about to leave and here you come. If I didn't know better I'd say it was fate. But of course, it can't be fate."

She hadn't actually knocked the phone from my hand. "Drusilla!" I said. "Fancy meeting you here in front of my father's office."

"It's not fancy at all; it's actually rather plain. Would you like to go inside?"

"Do I have a choice?" I said. She hadn't killed me yet. That was a good thing. The longer I stayed not dead, the more chance there was for the person on the other end of the phone to come help me.

"There are always choices," she said. "You can like this one or not like it. That's a choice, isn't it?"

I got it. "But we're going inside either way."

She took her hand off my shoulder long enough to clap her hands and say, with a demented giggle, "You're a smart Martian! Now come along." And with that, she pushed me back towards the office, where I opened the door just in time to avoid being smashed into it. Along the way, I also dropped the phone.

"I can't walk through walls," I said as we went inside.

"You can't? Pity, that. I think I used to be able to. Or maybe I just knocked them down. It really amounts to the same thing in the end, you know. Now come, sit." And she shoved me in the direction of the couch. I figured I _could_ stay standing, but that that would probably do nothing more than irritate her.

And since at the moment she didn't seem inclined to slaughter me bloodily, I thought that maybe ticking her off? Not the best way to guarantee my long-term survival.

So I sat down at one end. She sat down at the other. At least she didn't try to take the seat right next to me. Yes, I know it was vampire Willow who liked to snuggle, but Drusilla's affections defined the word "mercurial."

As an added plus, she had her human face on, not her game face.

We sat there for a minute or so while she studied me as though she were a birdwatcher and I was a spotted monarch warbler, not seen since 1923. (No, I don't know if there's actually such a thing as a spotted monarch warbler.)

Finally she said, "Would you care for some tea?"

I looked around and didn't see any, so I said, "No thank you."

"Good. I don't seem to have brought any with me and all you have is that nasty bean." After a second, she said, "I hate the bean," as though coffee in the past had tortured Spike and burned her dolls and she was looking forward to the chance to exact her bloody revenge.

I didn't answer her. "You're very interesting," she finally said.

Right up there with "Spike gets bored" in the list of top ten things you don't want to have happen in Sunnydale? "Drusilla thinks you're interesting." ("Buffy has a birthday" is number one.)

I decided to play it safe and say nothing. "Do you want to know why I think you're interesting?" she said almost shyly.

Hell, no. I'd rather try to cross a busy interstate during rush hour, blindfolded.

Somehow I had the impression she might not want to hear that answer, so I said, "Sure. Why do you think I'm interesting?"

"It's the same reason you frighten me, it is. You're like a book with no pages."

"Useful for writing in?" I asked.

"I wouldn't want to write in you. My pen is out of ink." I prayed it didn't occur to her to use blood instead. "You're not there. I can see you and hear and –" she sniffed – "smell you, but I can't feel you."

"So you think I could have walked through that wall if I'd wanted to?"

"No, silly," she said. "My hand touched your shoulder. I can feel you, but I can't feel you. And my eyes wouldn't work on you, either. Do you think I have pretty eyes?"

You're a Martian. You don't belong here, on this world."

And that was closer to the truth than I was comfortable with. Of course, I was sitting next to Drusilla on a couch, so my being mentally comfortable was already kind of well over the horizon.

"So all this was to explain why you're going to kill me?"

"Oh, no. I can't kill you. I don't know what would happen if I killed you. I can't see with you in my way, but I don't know who's behind you. You're chaos, you are. You're chaos and you're a Martian and you're the fog on my glasses. And I don't even wear glasses. Have you ever read David Eddings?"

A turn that sharp needs a guard rail. It took me a second to catch up mentally; I was only somewhat sure I understood what she was talking about, except for the part about me not belonging here.

In any event, while I'd vaguely heard of Eddings, I'd never read him, and said as much to Drusilla. "Oooh. You must, you really must. He's very easy to read; all his stories are just the same, and everyone tells everyone else to be nice. I like it when people are nice. Don't you?"

"Depends. Does your definition of nice mean eating people?"

"I don't eat people, my Martian; I drink their blood but I leave the bones for the rats and the vultures. They need to eat just like the rest of us."

Terrific. An ecologically conscious vampire. I'd say only in California, but Drusilla was just visiting. "That is – nice," I finally managed to choke out.

"You, however, are not nice," she said a bit sharply. "You've been a bad Martian, burning my Spike like that."

Well, the cat was out of that bag. I hadn't really thought that my holy water pistol would stay secret forever. Would've been nice if Spike and Drusilla didn't know about it, but that particular secret was minor in the larger scheme of things. "He was about to attack someone," I said.

Drusilla said, puzzled, "But he wasn't going to hurt them, you know; he was going to give them eternal life."

"And from your perspective, I can see why you'd think that was a good thing," I said. "But from mine?"

"You don't want to live forever?" she asked, as if she couldn't possibly understand why anyone wouldn't.

"I wouldn't mind," I said. "I just don't want to use your method of bringing it about. No offense," I said, remembering how she seemed to appreciate the courtesies.

"I'm not going to make you like me or like my Spike," she said. "A Martian vampire? No, that would never do. And anyway your blood probably wouldn't taste very good. Like red sand or something."

That made me relax slightly. She wasn't going to kill me or make me a vampire. That didn't mean that anyone else was off-limits, and it didn't rule out her doing something else incredibly insane, which is why I stress the "slightly" more than the "relaxed."

I was also beginning to wonder what had happened to the cavalry. Of course, I was probably having a twisted perception of how long this was taking as well. (Besides "too," which was technically accurate but not particularly helpful.)

"Well, thank you for informing me," I said.

Another almost shy grin. "You're very welcome. And quite civilized. Etiquette is so important. Don't you think so?"

"I always have," I said. "So, what about David Eddings?"

Drusilla seemed puzzled for a second. "Were we talking about him? Now I remember. We were. I thought it might have been a dream I had once but I never would have dreamed you, Martian. Elenium and Tamuli, they're the ones you have to read. The main character is a forty-year old knight. He's a lot like you, you know."

Despite myself – "How?"

"You're both _Anakha_, and _Anakha _frightens the stars and the entrails and the bones and the cards. They can't see him, just like I can't see you."

Okay, I thought I was getting it now, though I suppose I'd have to skim through Eddings to be sure.

Drusilla had mental powers -- mostly the gift of prophecy, from what I'd been able to sense, but she clearly had some kind of low-level ability to --

Read people.

("It's not Daddy. It's never Daddy.")

I don't want to call it telepathy, maybe it was just a low-grade empathy, but the crucial thing is, whatever it was, I was immune to it.

And that wasn't the important thing.

_She couldn't predict what I would do._

I was beyond unpredictable. I was _non_predictable.

And if Drusilla couldn't foresee what I could do, _no one could. _

I didn't show up in "the stars and the entrails and the bones and the cards." And she was afraid of what might happen if she shoved me out of the way so she could see what was behind me.

My basic immunity to magic had just developed a whole new wrinkle. This had Cordelia's layers beat all to hell.

And it was all because I didn't belong here.

Ethan Rayne would love me. Assuming he knew of my existence.

"I get it now," I said. "You can't see me now, and you can't see me then, either."

She clapped her hands. "She's got it, she's got it!"

"I do," I said. "So why did you tell me?"

"I wanted to see you up close. I've never seen a Martian before except on TV, and they're not real. But you're real. You're very real. But you shouldn't be here and there's nothing on the slide and the scientists are starting to get cross."

"That's it? No plot? No threats?" So she'd done all of this just to get a chance to study me up close?

"Do you want one?" she asked.

"No. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," she said, standing up. "She's coming." She grabbed my arm and half-dragged me outside.

Right then the cavalry arrived. Buffy came running up the street and screeched to a halt when Drusilla put her game face on and made as though she was going to bite my neck. "Back!" she said. "Or her warmth goes away."

She whispered in my ear, "You're safe. I promised you."

"What do you want, Drusilla?" Buffy said.

"To fight later. Now isn't the right time."

"I'm sure you think so. Let her go."

When Buffy took a step forward, Drusilla said, "I will do it, you know." Then to me _sotto voce_: "Don't I lie beautifully?"

"You're an artist," I said.

"Why, thank you." Slowly, she began pulling me down the street. Buffy followed. My heart was racing.

When we got to a manhole, she suddenly shoved me forward, picked up the cover and said, "Catch," to Buffy, before jumping in.

The cover sailed over my head. By the time I could look up, it was clattering to the pavement and Buffy was helping me to my feet.

"What the hell was that all about?" she said as we walked back to the office.

"I'll fill you in in a second," I said, breathing heavily. "But first I have to get the phone and call my father."

I was breathing even harder by now. What was going on? I felt like I was going to pass out. I wanted to run. I had to get the phone. My chest hurt.

"You need to sit down," Buffy said.

Sounded like a good idea.

X X X X X

I was having a panic attack. If you hadn't figured that out yet. Buffy recovered my phone and called Dad, who let Lamb take credit for the deadbeat dad and broke land speed records getting down to the office. He called in a favor to get someone to repair the door (Sunday evening, quite a feat) and then he drove me and Buffy home.

He could see I was shaken, even if he didn't quite know why, so he let me have the rest of the evening criticism-free.

I needed it. What Drusilla had said stayed with me for quite a while:

I was the joker in the deck. "The fly in the ointment, Hans. The monkey in the wrench." The unexpected obstacle in the road.

In other words, she was right: I was an alien here.

A true Martian Manhunter.


	49. Coffee Good

Author's Note: Interim chapter. Hell, Veronica needs a break, though, wouldn't you say?

Disclaimer: Buffy characters belong to Joss, Veronica Mars to Rob, and the plotline to me.

X X X X X

I hadn't had the presence of mind to lie to Buffy about much that had happened that night. Of course, considering that I was in the middle of a full-scale panic attack, I'm damned lucky I didn't confess everything, bringing my "wager" with the Adversary to a messy end then and there.

Of course, since I wasn't really making a lot of sense at that point, I suspect I could have told Buffy everything and she wouldn't have understood me. Of course, neither would experts on Finnegan's Wake, from what I'm told. I don't really have too clear a memory of much until I was home.

Buffy just sat there with me, waiting for my Dad to show up. She told me later she was keeping an eye up and down the street in case Drusilla decided to make a return appearance. I would have told her not to bother, had I been able to think about it, but at that point I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe to really concentrate on anything else.

"She says I can't be predicted," I finally said. "She says she has no idea what I'm going to do and that fascinates and terrifies her and . . . "

I babbled like this for two minutes until Buffy finally said, "You do realize I have almost no idea what you're talking about, right?"

"Was I talking?" I said.

"At great length, great volume and with great speed," she said wryly.

I seemed to be finally catching my breath. And right then is when Dad pulled up. Which gave me about fifteen seconds of semi-rationality to get out what I needed to say.

"Tomorrow morning. Ms. Calendar's a pagan, right. Have her predict me."

"Huh?"

"Do it," I said.

And that's when Dad ran up. Buffy gave him a summary of what had happened as far as she could tell, of course leaving out any reference to deranged vampires with Stevie Nicks fetishes.

Dad was clearly disturbed by what had happened, but, like I said earlier, seeing how shaken I was by the night's events restrained him from giving me the third degree. He fed me and hugged me and sent me to bed.

That's what daddies do.

X X X X X

Unfortunately, while Daddies take care of people and know when to give their seriously-stressed-out daughters some time off, evil supernatural beings have no such compunctions.

I'd say "damn them," but I'm fairly sure that's already taken care of. If they didn't simply laugh.

At least the Adversary was good to his word, though; once again, I was in for a Lilly-free evening. I found myself back in Dad's office, in the same position I'd been in when Drusilla and I were having our little chat, only this time the Adversary was there instead.

"Miss Mars," he began, "I --"

I didn't let him finish the sentence. "No," I said.

"No?" He seemed puzzled. I wondered how "seemed" it was. He knew everything about me but I never got the impression he was, precisely, omniscient.

"No," I repeated. "Not here. Not like this."

"Where would you prefer?" he asked urbanely.

"Right now, anything short of the lip of an active volcano would be good," I said.

It's been said to me that I need to keep my big mouth shut on more than one occasion. I'm not arguing the point, but I wasn't lying. It was too soon after for the Adversary's choice of seating arrangement to do anything other than piss me off.

Which possibly had been his point. In any event, the scene soon changed to the lip of -- wait for it -- an extinct volcano.

At least I hoped it was extinct. Or at least dormant with no chance of waking up anytime soon. "Funny," I said.

"I take you at your word, Miss Mars," he said.

"Well, assuming this isn't my overactive imagination deciding that I, no, a close encounter with quite possibly the scariest being in the Buffyverse wasn't enough, what the hell do you want?" Chalk it up to still not being complete over the panic attack. I probably would have snapped at Lilly at that point. Then, before he could answer, I figured it out. "This is about Drusilla's revelation."

"Yes," he said. "Good job."

"Amazing as it may seem to you, earning your approval? Not on my top ten list of things to do right now. Or ever."

I don't think I've ever seen you this – feisty – before," the Adversary said.

Feisty? He was going to regret that.

(In the dictionary, under _idle threat_? Look it up. You'll see what I just thought.)

"Yeah, well, I've never had to deal one-one-one with Drusilla before," I said. "And the last I checked, there was nothing in our 'agreement' about me not mouthing off to you. Nor was there anything about not mentioning the conclusions that Drusilla drew. Another little gift of yours, I assume."

He frowned slightly. "Actually, no. Not intentionally, anyway. I suppose it's a combination of you being magic-null and you actually being an 'alien' in this universe." Then, sighing, he said, "Nothing to be done about it now, I suppose."

"Can't you just wave your hand and get rid of it?"

"I could," he said, "But I would be breaking my word if I did it. I may be many things, Miss Mars, but I'm not a liar."

"That means you don't know what's going to happen, either."

The Adversary said, "I am not a deranged vampire – no matter how powerful her precognitive powers are. The rules that apply to them don't apply to me."

"That wasn't actually an answer," I said.

"No. It wasn't. The best way I can put this, Miss Mars, is that for me the future is written – but it is not necessarily written in stone. You can change things. You can surprise me."

"Have I surprised you yet?"

"Once," he said. "Which is more than most people manage. You should be flattered."

"I am. Enormously," I said, making no effort whatsoever to sound convincing. "See this face? My 'tremendously flattered' face. I've been told it bears a strong resemblance to my 'incredibly annoyed' face, but I've never actually made the comparison. Anyway, did you call me here just for kicks, or did you have a reason?"

"You seem to have picked up on the reason already," he said. "The vampire's revelations. As you surmise, they're not off limits, because what other people figure out about you is not within the terms of our wager."

"Well, that's something, at least," I said.

He smiled. "It's more than something. It's close to everything."

Didn't I know it.

X X X X X

Sleep, for the rest of the night, was hard to come by. I would be a cranky Veronica tomorrow. Not that that was too much different from "normal Veronica," but I preferred being able to operate without biting someone's head off for asking me directions.

That I would be a Sunnydaler who didn't mean it literally probably wouldn't be especially comforting to whoever got in my way.

Massive doses of caffeine, here I come.

X X X X X

Dad figured my "good night's sleep" – like I was going to tell him about my nightmares, Lilly-inspired or not – was enough to recuperate from the events of the previous evening. He wanted dates, he wanted names, he wanted descriptions.

"Didn't Buffy tell you that last night?"

"Buffy only told me that she chased off a crazy woman who jumped into the sewers, sweetie," Dad said. "She didn't tell me how she'd gotten there in the first place. Nor could she. Unless she's secretly psychic."

It's an indication that perhaps my mind wasn't quite as settled as I would have liked that my first thought was ,"Holy shit. Earshot." Still, I said, "Naah. She's got superhearing. I'm the psychic one."

"Oh really," he said, unamused. "What am I thinking right now?"

"That doesn't take a psychic," I said. "Look, Dad. You know me. I'm not the kind of person who folds under pressure."

"Nerves of steel, that's my girl," he said.

"Last night scared the hell out of me. And I'm not even entirely sure I can explain why." Not to you, anyway, much as I might want to. "I mean, it's not like I haven't dealt with scary people before." True; but I haven't dealt with them in this reality, yet. Dad's not going to count my close encounters with the Fitzgeralds, Aaron Echolls or Cassidy Casablancas that he can't possibly remember.

"How was she scary?"

I explained what had happened, finishing up with, "She was completely delusional," I said. "She kept calling me a Martian, for one thing. The scariest thing is that she was extremely polite and yet you could tell that that was all just a cover." I added, "What scared me the most is that it seemed to me that she was talking to me because she found me interesting. Not like she thought I was attractive; like she was a scientist and I was a particularly fascinating insect she'd just discovered, and she wasn't sure whether to dissect me or study me while I was alive." All true, except that Drusilla had decided to keep me alive. But it was sure as hell a large part of what made her scary.

"Did she say why she thought you were interesting?"

"Apart from me being a Martian, no. And that could have been just a joke about my last name."

He thought for a second, then asked, "How did she know it?" suddenly.

"She read it off the door?" I suggested.

"You could have been the receptionist for all she knew," Dad said. "If she'd picked you at random."

Crap. I knew where Dad was going and I had to derail it. One thing I did not need was Keith Mars attempting to track down Drusilla.

Because he'd be able to, you know. He's just that good. Never mind that Drusilla NLN died a century and a half ago; never mind that if she even has a last name at this point, no one's bothered to provide it; never mind that vampires, Wolfram & Hart clients aside, pretty much define "moved; left no forwarding address." To which you can add "Killed and ate the mailman."

Excuse me. Drained the mailman. Have to leave something for the vultures and rats, you know.

"You think she didn't?"

"Sweetie, the door was open when you got there; she clearly didn't meet you walking down the street and fixate on you, for some reason."

"But how could she know I'd be there?" I'd been wondering this myself. Knowing Drusilla, though, she simply somehow knew that I was occasionally at my father's office and simply decided to stick around on the off chance that I'd happen by. There were better methods, but there were worse. And, in any event, it had worked. "And, anyway, she clearly broke in. Who knows how long she had to look around?"

"The office didn't seem like it had been tossed." He'd taken a quick look inside when he got there. "Still, I get your point." Then he frowned. "Why do I think you don't want me to chase after this person?"

"Because I don't," I said. "This is the scariest person I've ever run across in my life. I'm hoping to never run into her again –" no lie, though I seriously doubted my hopes would become reality. Fairy tales can come true, true; but in Sunnydale? The kind of fairy tales the Brothers Grimm originally wrote. Not Disney's versions. "—and I'm kind of hoping the same thing for you. Look. I'll give you a detailed description; hell, I'll even march down to the Sheriff's Office and explain everything to Deputy Lamb, assuming you think that would be worth the effort --"

"Of course not," he said. "The insurance company might insist on it, though, so you might have to do it anyway. Don't worry. I'll pull a few strings and make sure someone else does the interview."

"You still have strings to pull?" I asked. "I thought they cut all of them."

He smiled a bit. "They tried," he said.

X X X X X

The weekend wasn't quite done messing with me even now, although at least what came next was a pleasant surprise. As I left to head to school, I found Buffy leaning on my car. "You weren't out here all night, were you?" I asked.

She started guiltily. "Not all night . . ."

"Buffy!" I said. I hadn't really been serious.

"Look, you had a crazy vampire apparently stalk you and push you into a panic attack. And honestly, I wouldn't have thought you were even capable of panic."

She don't know me vewy well, do she? Still, I appreciated the compliment. "I try not to. I think being trapped in my Dad's office by a deranged vampire who finds me 'interesting' more than justifies the reaction." A pause, then, "You were really here the entire night?"

"Of course not," she said. I simply stared at her evenly. "After all," she added, mumbling a bit, "I had to be home when Mom went to bed and there when it was time for me to wake up."

I shook my head. "Why?"

"You're my friend, Veronica," she said. "And I'm not making a short blonde joke either. I didn't know what Drusilla was up to, or what she was capable of, and I wasn't going to take the risk on her making a return appearance. You might be immune to her magic, but you're not immune to her tearing you into little bitty pieces."

"Which is something I was thinking about repeatedly throughout the encounter," I said, "As well as off and on all night."

I must have sounded angry, because Buffy held up her hands and said, "Whoa. Sorry. Not trying to make you relive it, I swear."

"I know. I think I'm going to anyway, for a while." A moment or two of amiable silence, and I said, "You know, the least I can do after that is treat you to a coffee." I yawned. "Besides, I'm going to need one myself."

"I'm not going to say no," she said, and moved to get into the LeBaron. "So, what are you thinking?"

"Do they sell it by the gallon?" I asked.

"Quit thinking small, Mars."


	50. No Prophecy Girl

Disclaimer: Buffy's Joss', Veronica's Rob's, only the original characters and plot are mine.

X X X X X

After a stop at the coffee shop – where we did not get gallons and gallons, but did startle the counterwoman with how much caffeine we were shoveling in – we headed to school.

In addition to everything else, I still had the case of the stolen laptop to deal with. Fortunately, that would be fairly easy. Still, it was something else I had to do.

Life, they say, is just one damned thing after another. My life? Living proof.

Again, still, after the weekend I had, though, it would be good to get back to school, where I already knew 90 of what I was being taught and the worst threat – Bad Eggs aside – was Armin Shimerman in a cheap suit.

(Quark and Snyder. And a horny judge on Ally McBeal, if I remember correctly. Now there's an actor with some range. I'd say more than Aaron Echolls, but really, why insult the man?)

Between sips – okay, gulps – I did find time to ask Buffy whether she'd managed to arrange things with Ms. Calendar.

"I think so," she said. "Of course, given that all you said was, 'She's a pagan, right? Have her predict me,' I can't really say exactly what was arranged. But she'll be in the library before school."

I blinked. "Was I making that little sense?"

"That was you when you were making the most sense," she said.

"No wonder you stayed outside all night."

She said, "It may sound like I'm playing this lightly, Veronica, but I'm really not. You were in absolute panic and babble mode, and I don't think I've ever seen you anywhere close to that. Hell, you were cool beyond cool when you had a stake to Drusilla's throat."

"You think so?" I interrupted. "Boy, I'm ready for a career on the stage of you believed _that_."

She said, "You know what I mean."

"I do," I said.

"Anyway, if something about it weirded you out _that_ much, even if you weren't too clear on what it was, I figured no way am I going to take the chance that maybe Dru might not be done with you." After a second, "You feeling rational now?"

"More or less," I said, "But I'd just as soon wait to clarify things until I have the chance to explain this to Giles and Ms. Calendar. And anyone else in Vampire Killers, Anonymous."

"The Scooby Gang," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"We call ourselves the Scooby Gang."

"Whose idea was that?"

"Whose do you think?"

"One Alexander Harris?"

"Aided and abetted by one Miss Willow Rosenberg," Buffy said.

"Unfortunately," I said, musing, "I don't know what that would make me. Scooby-Dum? I think you're already full up, assuming you count Cordelia."

She sighed. "I guess I have to. She _has_ been helping us a lot recently."

"Says something about her that she is," I said.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "I know. Sometimes people surprise you."

Okay, so she _hadn't _spontaneously come up with that on the night of the prom. Hardly a surprise. I reused my own internal dialogue on a fairly regular basis. Real people don't have scriptwriters.

I said, "I wonder if you should have been surprised. Think about it. What does Cordelia pride herself on being?"

"Good-looking, rich, and better than everyone else?"

"_Besides_ that," I said.

After a second, Buffy said, "Telling the truth."

"Give the Slayer a gold star," I said. "Cordelia's devoted enough to _telling_ the truth that she's not going to _deny_ the truth, either."

Buffy looked at me oddly. "Are you sure you're a detective and not a psychiatrist?"

"They both involve knowing people," I said. Though, truth be told? Reading people, not necessarily my best skill. Beaver Casablancas had me fooled for a year and a half. Yes, I know he fooled everyone else, too. Not exactly a big comfort. "You think I could hang up my shingle? Psychiatric help, five cents each, the doctor is in?"

"In Sunnydale, you'll be rich or dead by tomorrow."

"Or possibly both."

"Sure, _now_ you think big."

X X X X X

We got to school about twenty-five minutes before the opening bell rang; Plenty of time to finish up the case of the missing laptop (complete with dramatic denouement, with Buffy serving as muscle to make sure no one involved decided to make a break for it), invite Sheila along to my meeting with Ms. Calendar (with the promise of explanations to come), and have a brief encounter of the marginally unpleasant kind.

"Mars. Summers. What are you two doing here at school so early?" He asked the question as though he assumed that, whatever answer we actually gave, what we really meant was something like "We're here to plant bombs and cause mischief and otherwise disrupt the orderly functioning of your school."

"We're just that eager to learn, Principal Snyder," Buffy said chipperly.

"Don't lie to me, Summers," he said. "I've seen your grades."

"Well, in her defense," I said, "She said she was _eager_ to learn. She didn't actually say she was any good at it."

He looked at me and shook his head. "The two of you together."

When he hadn't said anything else after about ten seconds, I said, "That's right. The two of us together. Was there something you actually wanted to _say_ about the two of us together, or are you just making random observations?"

"I'm watching you," he said, and walked away.

"I think they have laws against that in this state," I called after him. He turned and glared at me, then walked on.

We then raced around the corner as Buffy dissolved into a giggling fit. "How the hell do you do that?"

"Do what?" I asked as we made our way towards the library.

"Get away with mouthing off to Snyder like that?"

I shrugged. "He doesn't scare me. Also, my father knows exactly who and what he is -- another member of the same establishment that got him tossed from his job. Finally, my grades are high enough that I actually bring some distinction to the school."

"So I either need to buy a parent with a clue or work on my grades?" I nodded my head. "I'm doomed," she said as we entered the library.

Sheila, Giles and Ms. Calendar were sitting there. "Doomed?" Ms. Calendar said with mild alarm.

"Not _that_ kind of doomed, Ms. Calendar," Buffy said. "Just trying to figure out why Veronica seems to have no fear of Principal Mussolini."

"Buffy," Giles said reprovingly. "You shouldn't say that." He quirked a smile. "It is quite insulting to Benito Mussolini."

"I'll apologize the next time I see him."

"That's going to be kind of hard," Ms. Calendar said. "He's been dead for over fifty years."

"That takes care of that, then," Buffy said.

Sheila nodded in my general direction, "Hey again, manhunter," she said. "What's going on?"

"Yes," Giles said. "Have you learned something about Epimetheus?"

"I wish," I said. "No, last night I had a close encounter of the decidedly unnerving kind. Seems Drusilla thinks I'm interesting." Then I explained last night as best as I could, with Buffy filling in the details from when I was _non _completely _compos mentis_.

Sheila was practically out of her seat. "Where is she?" she said. "'ll kill the bitch."

"Stand in line," Buffy said.

"Don't stand in lines," Sheila said. "I cut them."

Ms. Calendar, though, while properly alarmed by the parts of my story that were alarming (which was pretty much all of it), was distinctly more thoughtful.

"I think I see why you wanted me here," she said. "You'd like to see if what Drusilla said was true."

"Got it in one," I said. "I know you're not a practicing magic-user yourself, but I also know you know quite a bit about divination methods. If you can't predict my future, then, crazy as she is, she was telling the truth." Giles, meanwhile, had gone into the rare books cage and was paging through something rather frenetically.

"Would it help," she said, "If I said I could halfway confirm it already?"

"How?" I asked.

"She's already cast runes or tarot or rolled the bones or something, manhunter," Sheila said. "'m guessing it came up completely meaningless."

"Runecasting," Ms. Calendar confirmed. "First time I've ever seen a pattern contradict itself."

Giles looked up from his rummaging and said, "The pattern contradicted itself? How is that possible?"

"I have no idea," she said. "No one else had seen it either – the consensus was that, somehow, I'd cast it wrong. Now I'm not so sure."

"Why're you checking on manhunter's future?" Sheila asked suspiciously.

She said, "Habit. I cast runes and do tarot on various people I know just to keep my hand in. Nothing ominous, I assure you."

Sheila looked like she was ready to say something, but I cut her off, saying, "Consider me thoroughly assured." I wasn't quite as sanguine about her actions as I sounded – what could her motives have been? -- but now wasn't the time to get into it. (And, anyway, she'd seemed to think it was unsuspicious enough that she said it openly without any trace of embarrassment.)

"'m not," Sheila mumbled, but didn't complain any further.

"Is there anything I need to do to help you?" I asked. "You're not going to need a piece of my hair or anything, are you?"

"It's fortunetelling, not voodoo," Ms. Calendar said amiably. "It's better to do the tarot when the person whose future you're trying to foretell is sitting nearby, but otherwise I think I'm okay. Oh: If I'm going to try astrology, I'll need your date, time, and place of birth."

A simple question, right? One of the simplest. Only I'd never actually spent much time thinking about it. I took an educated guess that I'd simply been shifted back six years (because seven would have made me overage for the junior class) and said "Here in Sunnydale, at the hospital. 10 AM . . . August 9, 1981." If I was wrong, if the Adversary had screwed with me there, I was a dead woman.

"10 AM exactly?"

"10:03. Is it important?"

"The more precise I can be, the better the reading. Rupert, what the goddess are you doing?"

"Checking to see if I can find any information about someone who's alleged to have Miss Mars' condition," he said.

"Condition?" I said. "I don't have the plague, Mr. Giles." I don't think I'd earned calling him "Giles," yet. Not out loud. It was kind of hard for my internal narrative not to, what with years of hearing him referred to that way; but I was simply a casual acquaintance who shared a secret. Not even Scooby-Dum, yet.

(And the first person who even thinks Scrappy-Doo gets tasered where the sun doesn't shine. And I don't mean Nome in midwinter.)

He looked sheepish at that. "Right. Apologies. In any event, I have been unable to locate anything as of yet. I shall keep searching, however."

"No rush," I said.

"Anyway, Giles, I doubt there'd be any prophecies."

He smiled. "Quite right. Difficult to predict the – what was the word you used, Miss Mars?"

"Nonpredictable."

"Thank you," he said. "Still. There may be something in here on it."

"Let's not go putting the cart before the horse, Rupert," Ms. Calendar said. "Let's confirm it, first." She looked up. "Which is something we're going to have to do later, unless you want Buffy, Veronica and Sheila to be late to class."

"'course not," Sheila said. "Can't miss out on hearing my math teacher drone on about algebra."

"There is nothing wrong with algebra," Giles said as the three of us got up.

"Never said there was," Sheila said. "Just something wrong with the way she teaches it."

Buffy said, "Good idea. I'll use that the next time I bring home a C on a math test."

"Or you could actually try studying," Ms. Calendar said lightly as she followed us out. 

"Kind of hard to maintain decent study habits when prime studying time is taken up by slayage," Buffy said.

"Veronica manages," Ms. Calendar said.

As we parted ways, Buffy glared at me. "I knew you were a bad example."

"I live to disappoint."

X X X X X

Sheila wasn't so easily put off; after Buffy and Ms. Calendar left, she pulled me into my "office" and said, "I will kill her if you want me to. Wish I'd done it when I had the chance."

Trying to keep things light, I said, "What's Buffy ever done to you?"

She scowled at me. "Not funny, manhunter."

I smiled slightly. "I know. And thanks, but no. Reiterated with a 'hell, no.' I prefer you alive. Go up against Drusilla without a lot of experience or a lot of friends and you've got every chance of winding up something else Buffy has to stake."

"I prefer you alive, too, manhunter," she said. Then she hit me on the arm, hard enough that it hurt.

"Ow," I said deliberately. "What was that for?"

"Reminder not to do that again."

"What, get trapped by a lunatic vampire? I'll do my best."

"You better."

X X X X X

Logan, who was betwixt and between when it came to knowledge of the supernatural, still got the Dad version of events rather than the Buffy version. The boy had the overprotective gene in spades and the last thing I needed right now was everyone and everybody running around trying to protect poor, helpless Veronica.

I know there are times I've needed protection. And thank goodness, Dad and Logan have been there at the time. I have no objection to being protected. But being smothered is something else entirely. Keep me safe. Just give me some room between me and the fortifications you're planning to build around me, okay?

"If I see this person --" Logan said.

"Cal the police," I said. "Call the FBI. Call _Baywatch_. But don't go after them yourself."

"Why, Mars," Logan said. "Are you actually concerned about me?"

"I don't want you dead," I said.

"That's an improvement."

I sighed. "I never wanted you dead." After a beat, not wanting this conversation to get too too terribly serious, I said, "Maybe maimed."

"Maimed? I expect something more imaginative from you."

"Once again, I live to disappoint."

X X X X X

Ms. Calendar caught up with me and asked if I minded if she gave me the results of her attempts to predict me tomorrow. What was I going to say? Hell no, I want my future and I want it now? Besides, me, not much of an expert at these things.

Dad also called while I was at lunch -- and telling Xander, Willow, and a reluctant Cordelia of my travails with Drusilla -- to explain that, no, no police report was necessary since the amount was under 1000 to repair the office door. Good. Hadn't wanted to talk to Deputy Lamb anyway. _Never_ wanted to talk to Lamb, if possible. If he and I were trapped at the bottom of Challenger Deep I'd ask one of the deepwater shrimp what they thought of the latest _Seinfeld_. And would almost certainly be guaranteed a better conversation.

Good. That left me free, finally, to follow up on something related to my own history, and not that of the Buffyverse. I told Dad I had something to do after school that night -- yes, someone would be with me -- and got back to being the best raconteur I could.

X X X X X

In the period between classes, I called Holly Takamura -- remember her? The bit actress whom Aaron Echolls had allegedly had an affair with, ending in a vicious temper tantrum when it turned out she'd been taping their tryst -- and, pretending to be Madison Sinclair of the _National Enquirer_, implied that I would be interested in going over the details of her encounter yet again. Being between gigs, she had no problem with it. I suggested we meet somewhere outside of town "just to be safe." She said that a coffee shop in Santa Carolita would be fine.

Santa Carolita? I wracked my brain for a minute and finally recalled it as a mid-sized town halfway between LA and Sunnydale. About an hour's drive. That should be fine.

Now for my company.

Two points if you guess who I took.

Here's a clue. There are three people in this town who know Aaron Echolls is a viable suspect. I'm one. Dad's not going.

A road trip with Xander Harris.

I can hardly wait.


	51. Where the Wild Thing Was

Author's note: A _Veronica Mars-_heavy chapter this time. There are two universes being interwoven here and every once in a while the Mars-verse gets to take center stage.

Though we all hope it did better than Willow, Xander and Buffy did.

Disclaimer: Buffy was created by Joss Whedon, Veronica Mars by Rob Thomas, and the plot and Holly Takamura by me.

X X X X X

Recruiting him was a job of work, though, let me tell you. Not that he wasn't eager to go, once I explained that it was all about trying to make sure Aaron Echolls paid for killing Lilly.

No, the problem was the other person who wanted his time.

Immediately after school, I managed to corner Xander -- in the hallway, didn't want to be seen dragging him anywhere, up to and including my "office" -- and told him of my plans to talk with Holly Takamura.

"I'm surprised you want me to come," he said. "Won't I kind of cramp your style?"

"Let's just say that right now, going places by myself after dark? Not seeming like such a wonderful idea. And you're kind of the only person who knows about this." After a second, "You _are_ the only person, right?"

"Yes," he said. "Though I'm still having fantasies about running the man through with a rusty meat hook."

"I still prefer 'arrest and shame in front of the world," I said. "Though that's not bad for a backup plan."

"_There_ you are," I heard a voice say. "Come on, we don't have all day."

"Oh, crap," Xander said as the voice's possessor -- one Cordelia Chase, naturally, because who else could it be? -- walked up.

Only at the last minute did she see me, hidden as I was from her view by Xander. I decided to make the most of it. "And where would you be wanting to go with Xander?" I asked innocently. "Someone you don't like?"

"None of your business, Veronica Mars," she said. "You know how often Giles makes me the messenger girl around here."

Clever Cordelia. A perfectly deceptive answer that doesn't lie in the least. About as subtle as she usually got.

And it gave Xander something to pick up on. After a brief hesitation -- "looking at linoleum," you know, even though he and Cordelia never did have sex, I think -- he said, "Well, you're going to have to tell -- Giles --" and don't think I didn't notice that hesitation -- "That I have something else I have to do today." He looked Cordelia straight in the eye and said seriously. "Something very, genuinely important."

"With _her_?" Cordelia asked, as though Xander were about to leave on an errand with a random bag lady. Not that Sunnydale had such things.

You'd think it would be a good thing when there's no reason for a town to have any homeless shelters, wouldn't you? And you'd be wrong. Not that Neptune was much better, but at least it gave the rich bored socialites something to fundraise for besides the lesser panda.

No, I don't have anything against the lesser panda.

I said, "With me. You'll just have to fill him in later."

"This _is_ important, Cordy," Xander said. "I wouldn't blow -- Giles -- off for just anything."

"Better not," Cordelia said, and stalked off.

If I told you I was fighting to keep myself from laughing, would you hold it against me? Even given the seriousness of the situation?

As Xander and I walked out to my LeBaron, he said, "I'm honestly kinda surprised you asked me to come along."

"Why?"

"We're not exactly best buds, m—Veronica," Xander said.

"No, and I doubt we ever will be," I said. "Though, who knows? I've been known to make enemies friends and friends enemies before. Still, not my priority. I asked you to come for two reasons. The lesser one is to satisfy everyone that I'm taking my safety seriously."

"Um," he said as we got into the car, "You do realize that in a fight I'm only slightly more useful than a rubber crutch, right? 'cause I may be cool beyond cool, but I'm not Bruce Lee." He grinned mock-cockily (okay, I just wanted to say that) as he spoke.

"Don't sell yourself short," I said. "You might not be Bruce Lee, but you're not Bruce Banner, either. Still," I said, handing him a water pistol. "This might be useful if we actually run across a vampire."

"Or the Wicked Witch of the West." After a second, "Be nice if it affected all vampires that way. Still, if we run across anything else –"

I'd started the car and begun to pull out of the Sunnydale High parking lot. "I'd say how our luck can't be that bad, but I know better than to tempt fate," I said. "Anyway, I'm thinking about going about even better armed. Supplement the water pistols with a real one or two."

"Bullets won't –"

"Kill vampires. I know. But I'll bet they hurt." That would be damned delicate. Dad would hate the idea of me carrying, and would almost certainly deny me permission to get myself licensed. That would mean I'd have to go unlicensed – and Don Lamb would love that. Carrying a concealed, unlicensed firearm in Southern California? Good way to spend some time making the acquaintance of your friendly local prison community.

A quiet minute or two while Xander looked around my car, and then he said, "Two reasons?"

"Right. The other's a bit less flattering to you."

"Believe me, I'm very used to not being flattered. More used to being flattened, actually."

"You wanted to see progress," I said. "You wanted to see that I was working on getting Aaron Echolls jailed –" Xander's smile left his face as though someone had ordered him to stop smiling immediately on pain of being shot – "And not just standing around doing nothing. My father has made progress on getting the man currently in jail cleared. I can't give you the details, because that's his investigation."

"And this is yours," he said. I nodded. "So, basically, you invited me along to get me to shut up?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite that way . . ."

"Doesn't bother me," he said. "And in the future, if there's anything else I can do to help you nail the bastard –"

"If there's anything you can do, I'll let you know." Not in my immediate plans. But why rule it out?

The only important thing I did the rest of the way there was tell him what my cover was: I was Veronica Munson, freelancer working on something for the _National Enquirer, _and he was a promising young high school reporter I was putting under my wing.

He said, "You _are_ the expert, Veronica, but you look younger than I do."

"Yeah, but I carry myself older," I said.

"That's --" he said with a slightly raised voice, then finished with "Actually true."

"Also, let me take the lead, okay?"

"What would you expect from me?" he asked innocently.

"Xander," I said. "Your goofiness can occasionally be funny and charming. I'd've thought that when I'm trying to find proof that Aaron Echolls actually killed Lilly that that would be one of the times you'd try to take things seriously."

"You-- you're right," he said. "But sometimes, if I don't laugh, I'll go crazy. You know?"

"Trust me on that one," I said. "I have ample experience in repressing things to keep from going crazy." After a second, I added, "And remember, you can't tell anyone what's going on."

He looked offended. I didn't blame him. "I think I've done a pretty good job keeping this secret so far, manhunter."

I let "manhunter" slide. "I know. But it means you can't tell Cordelia either."

Give the boy credit, he lied like a pro. "The only thing I tell Cordy is where to go."

"That would be the janitor's closet, right?"

His mouth moved for about ten seconds, and no sound came out of it. Quite a good impression of a kissing gourami, actually. If they had fish-calling contests, he would have won going away. "How the hell --" he finally said.

"I could give you a long spiel about how I used my keen investigative techniques and finely-tuned deductive abilities, but honestly? Sheer luck." That and having seen _Buffy_ season two about a hundred times, but I suspected he wouldn't be buying that reason. "I saw the two of you sneak into the janitor's closet a few days back. Means she either wanted to kill you where no one else would see -- or make out with you where no one else would see. When I didn't hear any violence -- and no, I didn't eavesdrop, I get my kicks _above_ the waistline, sunshine -- I jumped to the other conclusion. And the look on your face right now tells me I was right."

"You can't --"

"Tell anyone either? Relax. I don't gossip. I've been on the vicious end of the rumor mill for far too long to add to the other end. What you and Cordelia do in the privacy of your own closet is your business."

"Yeah, but I'm thinking maybe we should be more careful. You're probably the only student around here who _wouldn't_ either spread the word or be pissed off."

"I might quibble with you about Sheila, but otherwise? Yeah, you got lucky."

We got to the Santa Carolita coffee shop maybe five minutes early and looked around for Holly Takamura, having next to no idea what she looked like. (I thought Takamura _might_ be a clue, but there are enough people of multiracial background in beautiful Southern California that she might be a 6' blonde with a Japanese grandfather.)

As it turned out, she wasn't. A wiry Japanese woman who was maybe an inch shorter than I was walked in a couple of minutes after Xander and I did, clearly looking around. Fairly attractive, and fairly young, though probably not at the "statutory rape" level. I walked over and said, "Ms. Takamura?"

"Ms. Munson?" she said skeptically.

"That's me!" I said enthusiastically. "Come on over and sit down." I gestured towards the table, where Xander was just sitting down with my coffee and his pastry. "Want something?" I asked as we approached.

"I'll have a cappuccino," she said. "Thanks." She seemed doubtful. My apparent age, no doubt. I'd convinced people before. Witness, for example, Jenny Calendar.

"Alex?" I said. "Oh. Holly Takamura, this is Alex Brendon." Xander carefully controlled his reaction. "He's interested in the business and I'm kind of like taking him around with me for a few days as a favor to a friend."

"A burden to one and all," Xander said brightly. As I turned to glare at him, he said, "Right. I'll just go get that cappuccino."

"He _wants_ to become a tabloid reporter?"

I shrugged. "Always a few." A pause, then, "I read the story about you and Aaron Echolls in the LA _Express_ from a few years back. I've been trying to dig up dirt on him and your story seems right up my alley. I wonder why it didn't get bigger play."

She snorted. "Because it was Aaron-fucking-Echolls, of course. After our incident I got a polite visit from his agent."

"You'll never eat lunch in this town again?" I said, hazarding a guess.

"That, and ten grand to keep my mouth shut," she said. "And if you checked the _Express_, a few weeks later they ran a puff piece on how great Aaron Echolls was -- him and _Road to Dead_."

"Avoiding a lawsuit?"

"Yup. The report barely got any play anywhere outside of LA."

Xander came back with Ms. Takamura's cappuccino and sat down.

"So far, nothing we can use for the story," I said. "But interesting for background." True, even if not in the way Holly Takamura would assume. It seemed that once Aaron got beyond his initial burst of temper, he was smart enough to at least tell his agent what was going on, and that the agent was smart enough to realize that a carrot/stick approach would probably be their best bit. Still –

"So why are you talking to me now if they paid you off?" I asked.

She said, "It's not like they had me sign a nondisclosure agreement or anything."

"But – 'you'll never eat lunch'?" I asked.

She said, "The definition of courage in a situation like this."

"Huh?" Xander said.

I looked at him pointedly and said, "Outside income, Alex." Then, back to Holly Takamura: "Good for you. What?"

"A regular gig in a TV series shot in New York," she said. "Anyway," she said, "That's not really why you're here and I'd appreciate you leaving that out."

"I tend to leave the details like that to TV Guide," I said. "Unless you got the job by sleeping with one of the producers I don't really care." And honestly? Not even then. I am not, nor will I ever be, gossip girl. "So. You had an affair with Aaron Echolls on the set of Road to Dead."

"Affair is probably the wrong word," she said. "No commitment. Just sex. But yeah. I was playing a witness to a crime his character was investigating – I had two scenes with dialogue and one as a bloody corpse."

Xander snapped his fingers. "I remember that. It was your death that set off his bloody rampage."

"And speaking of rampages," I said, "The story in the Express only hinted. What happened?"

She said, "We'd been sleeping together for a few weeks and I was pretty much done with shooting. We'd gone back to my apartment for one last go, when he saw a life-size owl figurine I had."

"That's where you had the camera." I said, not as a question.

"Big eyes?" Xander said. At my confused look, he said, "To hide the camera."

Right. I should have gotten that.

X X X X X

Yes (Holly Takamura was saying.) He must have caught the glint of the lens, or something. I'm not sure what. But all of a sudden, in the middle of 'Oh god! Oh God!', he stopped abruptly, and, ignoring me, went over to the figurine. After a few seconds, he threw it on the floor as hard as he could. Smashed it.

'If you don't like owls –' I said.

'Where is it?' he said.

Saying 'Where is what?' seemed stupid at that point. 'You just broke it,' I said.

He stormed over and leaned down until his face was only an inch or so from my own and said, 'Not the camera, you fucking slut. The tape. Where's the fucking tape?'

"He'd changed. He'd been dominant before Note to self. Wash mind out. Preferably with an acid bath. Must get this picture out of my head. but this was something way beyond that. He was scaring me.

'I was hoping to keep it,' I said. 'You know. Kind of as a souvenir. And, you know, kind of as pointers to whoever I sleep with later. Because, baby, you know how --" Acid bath. Acid bath.

He backhanded me hard enough that I saw stars. 'Quit lying, bitch. No one's going to sell me out. Tell me where you put the goddamn tape now, or --' He raised his hand like he was going to slap me again.

'Okay. In the drawer -- to the left. Open it up.' He did, and pulled out three tapes. 'That's them.'

'It had better be,' he said. Then he got dressed, and I did the same thing, watching him close the whole time. He'd scared the fuck out of me. It's the reason I gave him the tapes instead of telling him to get fucked, you know? I really thought he was ready to beat the shit out of me if I didn't. Smart woman. When he was done he shoved me against the wall hard enough that I bounced and told me that if I told anyone I was a dead woman.

Then he left, and I went down to an immediate care facility and told the doctor that one of my scenes had gotten too realistic.

X X X X X

"Obviously you told someone," I said.

"Yeah, and he didn't kill me," she said. Woman didn't know how lucky she was. "Still, I didn't go blabbing to the tabloids then because I didn't want to take the risk, you know? I just wanted to make sure it was out there, somewhere. In case something else happened."

"Still, after all of it, it _is_ still your word against his, right?" Xander said. "Not saying I don't believe you, 'cause I do. But still."

"It _would_ be," she said. "But it's not my word against his. I bought a high-end VCR with my salary from _Road to Dead_ and I put my old one in my closet. It was only a couple of months ago and I was getting ready to toss it out when I noticed that there was still a tape in it."

"The one that was actually recording that day," I said.

"Yes," she said. "I don't know how much it got, but whatever's in there is yours."

X X X X X

Later that evening, with Dad working, Xander and I watched the tape on our home VCR. When we were done he looked at me and said, "We got something?"

I looked back. "We got something."


	52. Next Year's Girl

Author's Note: I told you I wasn't done.

X X X X X

In case you want it spelled out (and really, why wouldn't you?) what we had at this point was a fairly shaky recording of Aaron Echolls beating the crap out of Holly Takamura to get what he wanted.

Any competent defense attorney could point out half a dozen differences between what happened on the tape and what happened to Lilly, starting with the obvious point that Holly Takamura wasn't dead. Any competent prosecutor, though, would point out that this at least demonstrated, visibly, that Aaron Echolls had a nasty temper and was perfectly willing to use violence to get his way. Which you and I and the Adversary knew already, but the rest of Sunnydale was still blissfully unaware about.

Either that, or they'd been bought off, browbeaten, or fed to vampires.

In any event, with Xander continuing to play bodyguard (a lot better than nothing, even discounting any let's-pull-it-out-of-our-asses when we need to soldiering experience that he, and only he, seemed to have picked up from Halloween; at least, if Buffy ever acted like a simpering Englishwoman again, you're going to need to show me timings on your DVDs.), I went to the office, got out some paperwork on the off chance Dad dropped by and wondered what the hell I was doing, and proceeded to make three copies, because no matter who else hadn't followed me here from Neptune, Clarence Weidman had, and I wanted to be damned sure no one conveniently disappeared this evidence, the way Logan had gotten rid of the tapes back in Neptune on the first go-round.

Xander kept one copy, under strict instructions that if he ever showed it to anyone I would arrange for Sheila to kill him. I hid the master copy in my bedroom.

One of the other two was getting put into a safety deposit box next chance I got.

The third was going directly to Keith Mars. No, I wasn't going to hand it to him; living in Sunnydale has not, in fact, made me suicidal, thank you very much, and I'd promised him I was going to stay out of doing anything dangerous connected with Lilly's murder from here on out.

Yes, you know I was lying, I know I was lying, but Dad only suspected I was, and I'd prefer not to hand him any concrete proof, thank you very much. So I was going to mail it to him, anonymously.

Check that; Buffy was going to mail it to him anonymously. She and Giles were possibly the only two people in town whom Keith Mars couldn't intimidate.

And Dad vs. Giles in an angry-off? I wouldn't place bets either way. Yes, I've seen Ripper, but I'm also seen my Dad. Concrete walls would not stand in his way.

X X X X X

So, today. School. Ms. Calendar's reading me. I have the third tape nestled in my book-bag, and wouldn't this be a fine day for Herr Snyder to do an impromptu bag check.

Fortunately, he didn't.

I didn't have any new cases of my own, and thank goodness for small favors, because I think at this point, still in "Drusilla finds me interesting" recovery mode, I needed my plate to be emptier than it had been over that weekend, and Epimetheus, Lilly and the Adversary weren't going anywhere.

Thank goodness for bigger favors as well, because by my best judgment Ted, and Ted, were still a few weeks into the future, and don't think I haven't already considered scenarios where Xander, Willow or Cordelia come ask me to look into Ted Buchanan's background, because me? Obvious choice, when it comes to it. Detectives do the detectin' and Slayers do the Slayin'.

Would I get involved? Oh, hell, yes. Buffy and Joyce could do without the pain inflicted by that particular monster, no matter how good an acting job I thought John Ritter had done, playing a villain.

Pre-emptive strike? I wasn't sure. It might be too late already; I seemed to remember Joyce saying that she'd met Ted Buchanan a significant length of time before Ted the episode began. I'd have to give that some thought.

My job, per my unwilling wager with the Adversary, was to make things better, and I couldn't remember any lessons Buffy or her friends had learned from this particular episode. (Not that Joss was heavy-handed on such matters; the closest Buffy had ever come to a very special episode was I Only Have Eyes for You, and that was only because the WB had forced them to do that asinine PSA after the show ended.)

So this might make things better; but the only way to really make them better would be to find a way to spare Buffy pain while taking care to be sure Ted Buchanan didn't simply turn his attentions on the next woman to come down the pike. (That collection of bodies in his closet might be some help.)

Okay, now I was sure. Pre-emptive strike.

But not right this second.

No, right this second I had to deal with the angry brunette coming my way.

Why was she angry?

Well may you ask.

It probably had something to do with the several hours I'd spent with her not-boyfriend yesterday, while her hormones had kicked into overdrive.

This should be interesting: she was angry at me and couldn't tell me why – but she couldn't lie about it, either, because "not saying true stuff" wasn't her style.

I grinned my phoniest grin and said, "Cordelia. Hi. What can I do for you today? Death threats from one of your many jilted admirers?"

"Ha. Like I can't deal with them. No, I just want to know why the hell you dragged Xander off yesterday when he was needed so badly."

I smiled. "Let me guess. He wouldn't tell you."

"No!"

"And why are you so interested?"

"Because . . . he had more important things he needed to be doing."

Compared to Lilly? No, sweetie, he definitely didn't. But he didn't tell you – he can't – and I'm sure as hell not cluing you in.

"Come into my office," I said, gesturing towards the nearest women's room and reaching for my handy-dandy out of order sign.

"Nuh-uh."

"Okay, then," I said, pointing to the nearby custodian's closet. "We can use yours."

She gaped for a second; then her eyes narrowed and she said, "Fine," and half-dragged me to the women's room. I barely had time to slap the sign up before she said, "Okay. What do you want?"

"Want?" I said innocently.

"Knock it off, Veronica. You're not as cute as you think."

Time to get down to business. "Neither are you," I said.

"So. You know."

She didn't phrase it in the form of a question. Normally, when someone tried to get all vague on my like this, I would really turn up the 'cute' and say something about how I knew all sorts of things. I didn't really want to jerk Cordelia around, though, other than to the pro forma level I'd done already, to show her that she couldn't push me around no matter how much she really really might want to.

"Yes. I do."

"How?"

"I could make something about how you're not a very good storyteller and I picked it up in the subtle clues of you and Xander's body language," I said, "And by the way, you're not a very good storyteller –"

"I know," she said. "I hate lying, but it's not like I was going to blurt out the truth or anything."

"I'd ask why, but I know it's about your reputation," I said. "Trust me, though. Reputation? Not all it's cracked up to be."

"Well, you would say that," Cordelia said.

"Yes. I would. Doesn't make it any less true. It's not like I don't know something about being at the peak." Before Cordelia could answer, I said, "Anyway, that's not the important thing. I didn't find out because of my mastery of body language, though anyone who pays attention to the way you interact, would. I found out because I saw you drag Xander into a closet and didn't hear you either screaming at him or beating the hell out of him. Logical assumption, and no, I didn't eavesdrop; I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine." Well, in this timeline, anyway.

"And what are you going to do about it?" she asked. Ah. She thought I wanted to blackmail her. I'm not going to insult your or her intelligence by saying that I'm above a little judicious blackmail, but I don't do it for personal gain or just to screw with people.

"Not a damn thing," I said. "It's enough that I know, and that you know that I know. But I wouldn't blackmail you. No matter what you might think, I like you. Or at least, I respect you. A lot more than most of the other idiots at this school, including the ones you hang out with."

"Really?"

"Really," I said. "You've never liked me, but you never pretended to like me. Around here, trust me, open hatred? A lot easier to deal with than phony friendship."

"Okay," she said, apparently still processing. Layers she might have, but she had a worldview, and in my inimitable manner I'd just kicked a couple of holes in it. She gets all the credit in the world for being able to realize that there was "more to Heaven and earth," but it did take her a few months to process. This wasn't so earth-shattering, but I imagined it might take her a couple of minutes, at least.

"So," she finally said, "You're not going to tell anyone?"

"I didn't say that," I said, and the look of horror, so recently gone from her face, returned with a vengeance. "I'm not going to blackmail you, I'm not going to reveal it to be mean, and I'm not going to spread it around for laughs. I probably never will. But if it becomes important – and you know my value of important –"

"Got it," Cordelia said, "So I really have nothing to worry about."

"No."

"Good," she said. "And now, just in case you thought I'd forgotten – what were you doing with Xander yesterday?"

"Not what you're worried about," I said, "And not your business, otherwise. It has nothing to do with you, or with Buffy's secret, I promise you. And I'm guessing you asked him already and he told you he couldn't tell you, or you wouldn't have come and asked me, instead, because I know you're smart enough not to think I'm easier to pry information out of than the guy you're making out with in a broom closet. So you're just going to have to deal with not knowing. At least for now."

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and said, "Like I was that interested anyway," and flounced out.

I'd like to say that was a load off, but the truth is, it's a load I hadn't even realized I was carrying until it fell off.

Such is my life. In any universe.

X X X X X

My encounter with Cordelia meant it wasn't until lunch that I could really sideline Buffy, or catch up with Ms. Calendar, for that matter. Willow caught me between classes and said that Ms. Calendar wanted to see me at lunch.

I told her thanks, and asked her to see if she could have Buffy drop by as well. Yes, I'd seen Buffy, but the high school press had kept me away. (No, not Duncan; the crowd. Duncan and I were getting along, at this point, but that was about it. No recurrences of what happened in Neptune yet – and there would be none, no matter what he might hope.)

I did have the opportunity for a quick conversation with Sheila. I told her about my threat to Xander, and she just nodded and said, "'scool. Be happy to do it, manhunter. Be the chance to try out the newest spell. Kind've like throwing a punch only without havin' to touch what I'm hitting. Broke a couple of boards already. You should see it. 'sfun." Sounded like a form of telekinesis, and one I don't remember Willow Rosenberg ever mastering.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm," I said wryly, "But I don't actually want you to kill him. Just scare him. And probably not even that."

"You ruin all my fun," she said, but didn't really seem unhappy.

"It's what I live for," I said.

I gulped down my lunch, dodged a sophomore who looked like he wanted to hire me (like I said, too much to do at this point), and headed to the computer lab.

Ms. Calendar and Buffy were both there.

"Veronica," the computer teacher said. "Good. You're here."

"Yup," I said. "Here I be. Hold on one sec."

Then I motioned to Buffy to follow me; out in the hall, I handed her the tape and asked her to mail it to my father.

"Wouldn't it be easier for you just to hand it to him?" she asked.

"If I wanted him to know I'd discovered it, sure," I said.

"Ah. Gotcha." She didn't ask, though she was clearly dying to.

"It has to do with a case," I said.

"Ah," she said, this time apparently understanding.

When I moved to re-enter the room, she stood there. "Come on," I said. "I have secrets, but this isn't one of them."

To her credit, Ms. Calendar didn't ask. One suspects she had more important things on her mind, but I suppose it's possible she was deathly curious and just that good an actress that she wasn't letting on. In either case, she just said, "Well, I predicted you, like you asked. Used every method I could think of, and every method any of my technopagan friends on line could think of, that didn't involve human or animal sacrifice. I rolled dice, threw bones, asked the stars, did the tarot; if you can think of it, hell, if you can find it in a dictionary, I tried it. About the only thing I didn't try was asking Cecil Adams."

"Well, if anyone would know, he would," I said.

"Cecil who?" Buffy asked.

"The Straight Dope." Ms. Calendar said. "And no, there's not a gay dope anywhere, at least not connected with Adams. He's a smartass from Chicago who answers pretty much any question posed to him." She shook her head. "Anyway, that's not really important right now. The long and short of it is, nothing worked. Or at least, nothing worked like it should. The bones fell in patterns that don't exist; the tarot cards kept blowing away before I could complete a pattern – and I was inside at the time – and the stars told me absolutely nothing coherent. Nowhere could I get a straight answer." After a second, she said, "Well, that's not entirely true. There is one method that worked. But even that didn't work well."

"What was it?" I asked, suddenly curious.

As she reached into a desk drawer, Ms. Calendar said, giving the lines a dramatic reading, "Will I ever be able to predict Veronica's future?" Then she shook her head sadly. "Sorry, Veronica," she said, pulling out a Magic 8-Ball and showing me the window. "My sources say no."

"I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry," I said. Buffy, for her part, seemed confused.

"Join the club," Ms. Calendar said. "When the only thing giving you a straight answer is a child's toy, it's time to give up. But this does confirm everything Drusilla said. You are nonpredictable."

"The word she used was Anakha," I said.

"Anakha. Eddings. Seems about right," Ms. Calendar said. "I'm imagining you freak out the Powers the way you did Drusilla." She stood up. "My advice would be to make the most of it."

"Huh?" I asked.

"You may be thinking of this that it makes you some kind of freak," Ms. Calendar said. Buffy bristled, and the teacher added, "No insult. Really, Buffy. You should know me better than that. I'm saying to look at it differently. Think about it. Everyone else we know, has some kind of destiny. Even if it's the kind that can be avoided or resisted. The future is completely unwritten for you. Make the most of it."

Which would have been a very nice, heartening pep talk, if only I couldn't (figuratively) see the Adversary behind her, tapping on an imaginary wristwatch.

Still. This could be helpful information. I wasn't sure how, but it could be.

I'm destiny-free. Really.


	53. Seeing Ted

Thanks for the welcome back! I said I was going to finish this story, and I will.

X X X X X

The rest of the day, and for that matter the rest of the week, went by fairly smoothly. Only two blips.

One, Dad, when he received the package. Buffy had sent it to the office, not home. Smart of her.

I was actually the one who got the package when the mail carrier dropped it off, too. Lucky me, that would explain my fingerprints.

Still, the formalities had to be observed. I opened the package, noted the crudely written "play me" on the videocassette inside, and promptly carried it in to Dad. Packages got taken in immediately. Checks were dropped into a lockbox (Dad did the books himself), which I did not have the key to. Everything else was separated into neat stacks and handed to Dad later, except for the junk mail, which was either tossed or made fun of, depending on my mood.

"Came in the mail," I said. "I thought you got your porn delivered at home."

"Ha ha," he said, taking the tape. "You know I have the PO Box for that."

I wanted to stay there and watch him watch it, but any kind of pressure, at this point, was a guaranteed way to make Dad suspicious. So I simply said, "Let me know if it's anything interesting," and left to make my way through the rest of the mail

About a half hour later, while I was doing some homework (skimming the history book for an upcoming quiz, on the off chance that my presence wasn't the only thing making this an alternate universe and that, say, Samuel Tilden had beaten Rutherford Hayes for the presidency), Dad called me into his office.

By the way: Hayes still won. On the off chance you were interested. I didn't think the Adversary had changed anything else. But every once in a while, I made a spot check, just in case.

"We got two checks -- what is it?" I asked as I walked in.

"Come over here," he said, sitting in front of the office TV.

"Ooooh," I said. "We got cable?"

"No," he said. "And this is serious."

I knew that, but now I publicly knew that, and quit trying to be funny. "What is it?" I asked.

"Someone sent me some evidence," he said, and clicked the remote.

I watched, for the fourth time, shaky but distinct video of Aaron Echolls beating the crap out of Holly Takamura to get three videotapes. "Whoa," I said when I was done. "Who sent it to you?"

"Nothing on the tape but the note. I assume there was nothing else in the envelope."

"Nope," I said. "I still have the envelope, though."

"Bring it in," he said.

I did just that, looking at the handwriting as I did and then realizing that I wasn't familiar enough with Buffy's normal handwriting to judge whether she'd tried to disguise it or not. "Here it is," I said. "Looks like a standard-issue packing envelope. Were you planning to track it down this way?"

"Maybe," dad said. "But that wasn't the most important thing." He looked at the envelope and frowned. "I don't suppose you recognize the handwriting."

"Not many people's I do," I said. "You, me, Lilly, and I don't think any of us sent it." After a second, I added, "So, what does this mean to you?"

"Exactly what it looks like. I now have one video showing that Aaron Echolls slept with Lilly Kane, and another one showing that he is a very violent man. Neither one of those items is proof in itself, but together they're enough to convince me that he killed Lilly. Stay away from him, Veronica."

"Haven't gotten within a hundred feet of the man since right after Parent-Teacher night. No plans to get any closer. Trust me."

He took the tape and put it in the safe. The safe itself, it should be noted, was one that even a fairly strong vampire wouldn't have been able to open by main force -- and it was fireproof and cemented to the floor. That wouldn't stop anyone determined, but it would stop pretty much anyone else.

"Are we closer?" I asked.

"We are," he said. "If I ever manage to prove Abel Koontz not guilty. Finding that prostitute ought to do it; I have a couple of leads I'm going to follow up on this weekend. But right now what I have the makings of is a piece on 60 Minutes: enough to get the public, maybe, convinced that Koontz didn't do it and that Echolls did, but not enough to convince a court -- even one not run by Mayor Wilkins' cronies." He smiled. "Still, this is definitely another piece to the puzzle."

The other blip during the week was more pleasant: After school on Thursday Sheila took me to the magic store. To my mild surprise, it was Pete manning the counter this time, and not Rae.

"Rae's taking a couple of days," he said. "I try to give it to her any time I make it back into town. She told me that Sheila was okay to use the back room for magic training whenever she wanted. I assume she wants?"

"She wants," Sheila said.

"Go right ahead," Pete said.

"Got any board or anything lyin' around?" Sheila asked. "Anything it won't be a problem if I break?"

"A couple of packing crates in the alley," Pete said. "Nothing I can reuse. Go to town." Sheila nodded and headed towards the back of the store. I lingered for a second.

"How was your trip?" I asked.

"Pretty successful. A lot of herbs this time, not so much artifacts. Not what you'd expect from Greece, but truth is, the place has been picked over for two millennia. Any artifact left there's either under heavy guard – and not all of that by humans, let me tell you – or is way out of my price range. Herbs, though, they got plenty of, and happy to have the business."

"Glad it was a success," I said.

"Thank you," he said, and got back to looking over what I guessed were the store's books.

I headed to the back to find that Sheila had just lugged in the second crate.

"So," I said, "I've seen find the target, focus, and witchfire. What's next?"

''sone I call the phantom punch," Sheila said. "Watch. And stand out of the way. I think I got the aim down but 'drather not knock you down findin' out I'm wrong."

"I appreciate the courtesy," I said, moving against the side wall.

She placed one of the crates towards the middle of the room, and stationed herself in the corner. Closing her eyes, she muttered to herself for a second, then opened her eyes and threw a punch.

The crate rocked up and moved about a foot. Impressive enough to me, but apparently not what Sheila was looking for.

"Shit," Sheila said. "Do me a favor, manhunter. Put that thing against the wall you're leanin' on. I ain't lookin' to knock the crate back."

I shoved it – it was more than I could carry – until it was where Sheila wanted, saying, "I thought that looked pretty good."

"Thanks. Still not what I wanted to do. Now clear out of the way."

I cleared, and Sheila repeated what she'd done a couple of minutes ago, only this time she threw the punch about six times.

The wood cracked on the fourth punch, and the side of the box shattered on the sixth.

"Okay," I admitted, "That is more impressive."

"And it doesn't bruise my knuckles, either," she said. "Look." Sure enough, her fist showed no sign of wear. If she'd hit that crate directly it would have been scraped raw.

She then proceeded to reduce the second crate into splinters, only she mixed punches with kicks. By the time she was done, she was breathing a little heavily, but once again grinning her trademark evil grin.

"You're tired?" I asked.

"I'm still throwin' punches, manhunter, even if I'm not connecting with anything. It's not a way for me to avoid work, just to do it at a distance."

"Imagine this combined with focus," I said.

The grin got wider. "I already am."

After we cleaned up, we left, going back through the front of the store.

Pete was talking to a customer; I couldn't see her face. He broke off for a second and said, "Did everything go well?"

"Yup," Sheila said. "I've got another spell down. That's four so far. Thanks."

"No problem," he said.

The customer, meanwhile, perked up when she heard the word 'spell,' and turned around.

I froze when I saw her face.

It was Amy Madison.

Amy went from good to evil fairly quickly; at least, that's the way it seemed. But think about it.

She obviously had started well down her mother's path by the time of Gingerbread; even if she had been mentally affected by her three years in rat form, she'd clearly known and been going to Rack well beforehand; he treated Amy like an old friend, not a new customer like Willow was.

And even in Bewitched, Bothered, Bewildered, she had no ethical problems with either magically making her teacher believe she'd handed in a paper, or with doing the love spell Xander blackmailed her into. If she wasn't one of the bad guys by that point, she was certainly well on her way.

And I was going to make damned sure Sheila had nothing to do with her.

"You're a witch too?" Amy said.

"Yeah," Sheila said. As far as I knew, Amy wasn't even on her radar; I had no idea what she thought of her.

"Cool! Maybe we could get together sometimes and talk magic."

I tapped Sheila on the shoulder and whispered, "Get us out of here" in her ear. To her credit, Sheila didn't react to what I said, but did start walking again, saying "Amy Madison, right?" as we passed the girl.

"Yup."

"Maybe we can. Sounds like fun. And sorry, but I have to get going or we could talk now."

"Give me a call, okay?"

Sheila nodded, and we left.

Once we were in my Le Baron and were driving away, I said, "Please don't. Stay away from her."

"Wasn't planning to," Sheila said. "I like doing this on my own. Don't think I like her, though. How about you? What's your problem with her?"

And now I was kind of stuck. I had nothing I could tell her, because everything but 'The Witch' was in the future, and that had been Catherine Madison, not Amy. Sure, I wouldn't know that, but Amy would cheerfully tell Sheila given the chance, and then where would I be?

I said, "Instinct. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something off about her. I'm not sure what."

Sheila nodded. "Okay. That's good enough for me. You're a pretty good judge of people, manhunter. I'll brush her off."

"Thank you," I said. If Amy was going to go down that road, she was going to go down it alone.

Was she going to go down it?

Was she a sociopath? Or did she just learn everything from her mother, including how not to have a conscience? I stretched my mind, thinking of anything genuinely good she might have done, and was having a hard time coming up with anything, even in BBB or Gingerbread. It's possible the Scooby gang saw her, initially, as a victim because of what her mother did, and then never really changed their mind until Smashed and Wrecked forced them to.

I think the three years as a rat didn't pull anything out of Amy that wasn't already there.

Still, I needed to do my due diligence.

Here, Amy. Hop up on my plate, please.

(It would be easier if she were still a rat.)

X X X X X

So, those were the blips. Both had repercussions, but I wasn't going to deal with either one right away unless it was shoved in my face, which, given my life, my wager, and the nature of this universe, I wasn't ruling out.

Lilly's murder was back on Dad; Amy and Sheila weren't going to be friendly, and Willow was taking things very slowly, assuming Rae was telling me the truth.

My search for Epimetheus was stalled, because she hadn't needed to make an appearance in a while. I was dutifully checking my recordings and asking Giles if he'd heard anything else, but apart from that, I told Giles he may as well stop paying me until she made another appearance, though I would keep checking the recordings.

All of the money he'd given me, incidentally? Straight to the local SPCA. I wasn't going to profit off of this, but I still couldn't figure out a way to do it for free, not and not get everyone suspicious.

Still, when the weekend came, for once, I had one and only one item on the agenda:

Ted Buchanan.

I knew the timeline once the episode started. I didn't know, at this point, how long ago Joyce and Ted had met (thinking it over, I was reasonably sure they had by now, because they'd clearly been dating for quite a while – Buffy'd mentioned something about her mother spending some long nights at the gallery.

Still, Ted and Buffy hadn't met yet, so maybe I could upset the applecart a bit.

First things first, though. Speculation was all well and good, but if I was going to try to play Ethan this episode, I needed confirmation.

So, Friday evening, I went for a drive down by the art gallery. Dad was already on his way back to Las Vegas, to check up on the hooker. I hope he finds her this time. We need that smoking gun.

If anyone asked, I was on a case; but no one asked. I did have my water pistol in case any vampires got frisky, and my sneakers, for that matter, so I could run like hell while they were screaming in pain.

Neither one got a workout. Thankfully. My life is interesting enough, don't you think?

Note to the Adversary: That was not a question for you. Please don't answer it.

I parked about a block away from the gallery, which was open Friday evenings (because if it wasn't, I was just wasting my time), and walked there uneventfully. It was advertising an exhibition of local artists.

Art? Really not much of my thing. I can tell the difference between Starry Night and Dogs Playing Poker, but in the middle, where most of this stuff was likely to be, I wasn't so reliable.

But no one said I needed to be. A lot of people went to art galleries whose aesthetic judgment was less than stellar, and I would be one of them. And – added bonus – local artists often went the "I'll take anything" route in terms of asking price, so if that needed to be part of my cover, I was good.

Joyce Summers was nowhere in sight when I walked in; there was a woman sitting at the front desk, presumably to make sure no one made off with the merchandise. I couldn't see Ted Buchanan, either. Three other people were wandering through the gallery, and I joined them.

After half an hour or so of looking at sculptures that wouldn't have even made good doorstops and paintings I wouldn't have put on my refrigerator if I were the artist's mother, I finally saw what I needed to see:

Ted. Leaving Joyce Summers' office, after clearly giving her a quick kiss in the doorway.

And now, he was seeing me.

Hmmm. Not quite how I hoped this would go.


	54. Seeking Ted

Still, there was no particular reason anyone would be suspicious at this point (yes, I know Ted tends towards the deeply suspicious and highly moralistic), so I decided to do my damnedest not to act suspicious.

I mouthed the word "Sorry" and tried to look embarrassed while turning my head. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ted whispering through the doorway, and about five seconds later heard Joyce say my name, distantly.

Thirty seconds after that, while I was looking at a painting that made "Dogs Playing Poker" look like the work of Da Vinci, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around Joyce and Ted were both standing there. Joyce looked kind of sheepish, and I couldn't read Ted, not that that surprised me.

"You shouldn't be eavesdropping like that, little lady," he said. Ah, Moralistic Ted, who apparently got his dialogue if not his diction from John Wayne: enter, stage left.

I shrugged. "Who was eavesdropping? It was pure luck."

"Ted!" Joyce said reproachfully. "Veronica wouldn't eavesdrop on me." Boy, howdy. To quote the great philosopher: She don't know me vewy well, do she? "Veronica," she said. "This is Ted. My boyfriend. Ted, this is Veronica Mars. She's a friend of my daughter's."

"The daughter you haven't told about me yet?" Ted said lightly. Okay, now Jovial Ted was in the house. If I had to deal with him, I much preferred Jovial Ted; he was less likely to slap me around or try to kill me.

And back to looking sheepish for Joyce, who said, "Yeah. About that. Veronica, Buffy doesn't know about me and Ted."

"And you want me not to tell her," I said.

"Yes," she said. "Please?"

"She won't hear about it from me," I said.

Ted and Joyce both smiled. "Good to know," Ted said, while Joyce said, "Thank you."

I made my exit as soon as I graciously could after that and walked back to my car as fast as I could.

X X X X X

Okay, I hadn't been planning to have Ted see me- - that killed any chance of me being the one to sneak into his office, like Buffy had the first time around -- but that wasn't really a crippling difficulty.

No, the problem came from what I'd promised Joyce. And you know damn well I'm willing to lie my ass off if I think it's for a good cause, but breaking a promise to Joyce Summers seemed kind of like kicking a puppy.

And, of course, Ted had been there, and given his Ozzie-and-Harriet-as-psychopath ethics he might decide to take it out on me personally. Not that that would stop me, but I'd still like to avoid him knowing about it; there's a difference between being willing to face danger and throwing oneself stupidly in its path, and I like to think I've learned to distinguish between the two. (I would not be doing the equivalent of wandering into the Fitzpatricks' bar, like I did back in Neptune.)

So I was going to have to find some other way of cluing Buffy in.

As I drove home, my mind was racing over elaborate schemes involving conning Buffy into coming to gallery and seeing for herself. It wasn't until I got home that I started kicking myself.

Back when I was still trying to figure out the terms of my forced wager with the Adversary, I figured out on my own that his prohibition from me telling anyone about the future didn't stop me from trying to change it without telling anyone. With Dad's help, I figured out that I could tell people about the past, even the secret one.

I also learned, and need to keep reminding myself, that I have this tendency to overanalyze some things. Admittedly, with my life? Overanalysis not always a problem.

But in this case it definitely was. Joyce had asked me not to tell Buffy.

She hadn't asked me not to tell anyone else.

And now, you may be wondering, why did I want to tell anyone? Why didn't I want to let the episode get started on cue and take it from there?

Honestly? It's not that I wanted Buffy even more upset, early on, and no, this wasn't gratuitously inflicting pain, because given Buffy's attitude when she did find out she would have been upset no matter when and how her mother's dating was presented. (Or who she was dating, for that matter.)

No, I was simply trying to give her, and myself, more lead time. And besides, I already knew how things went in the original timeline, and I knew that there was nothing but misery there, for anyone.

I knew about the dead bodies in Ted's fantasy '50s room, but right now any call I made to the Sunnydale Sheriff's office would have been laughed at. And that was before they recognized who I was. No, for that, I needed evidence, and while Xander and company had felt safe breaking into Ted's house when they thought he was dead, me, not so much, not yet, anyway. I needed a time when I knew he wasn't there, and wasn't going to be there for a while, and that time wasn't now.

And, unfortunately, when he was at work, I was at school. I could always sneak out, but getting on Snyder's radar? Not on my list of things to do.

The thing is, what I knew about Ted at this point could get him arrested, under the right circumstances; it would not get him stopped, wrecked, put "on the scrap heap of life." He was a killer robot, not simply a human murderer. An arrest probably wouldn't stop him for more than a few days, if that, and that was only if being shot would be a problem for him. (I saw no convenient way of arranging this, so I was going to treat him as though a few bullets wouldn't do more than make him angry. Better to assume in that direction than the other. The other way could get me in trouble, injured, or killed.)

So simply breaking into his house and providing irrefutable proof that he was a mass murderer was only half the battle. (The drugged pastries and pizza wouldn't do me much good, here, because again that spoke to killer, not killer robot.)

He needed to be gone.

Hmm. That plan would be more complicated.

But first things first. This was Friday night, so simply spreading gossip from the girls' room at Sunnydale High Monday morning wouldn't get the results I needed fast enough. (For all I knew, Monday night was when Buffy found out. I was fairly sure it was a weekday, for some reason.)

That left calling people – and I didn't have the social network for that, not anymore – or going to the Bronze.

Hello, Bronze.

The place was crowded when I got there, but not packed. Looking around, I didn't see Buffy or her friends, or Cordelia, but I did see the Cordettes, and, oddly, Oz.

Or maybe not so oddly; Dingoes Ate My Baby appeared to be the evening's live entertainment, though right now they were still in setup mode. Oz noted my arrival and gave me a quick half-grin, which for him, of course, was the equivalent of yelling my name, running up to me, and kissing both cheeks.

I grinned back and looked around. Oz was the only person here who would talk to me for more than about five seconds; reputation meant nothing to him. (Well, Devon would talk to me as well, but Devon would talk to anything female over the age of puberty whose face wasn't actually a dead ringer for Thomas Merrick's. The only thing that saved him from being just another asshole is that he was capable of taking no for an answer. Anyway, Devon wasn't an option, because he wouldn't be paying attention to anything I said; not that he would have been capable of remember ninety percent of it five minutes later even if he did.)

Oz, of course, wasn't an option either; gossiping wasn't in his character, and I wasn't talking about his taciturnity. Gossiping required maliciousness, and at this point Oz was probably the least malicious person in Sunnydale.

So that meant I was going to have to get creative. Fortunately, I was creative. I wandered around the room for a few minutes, danced for half of one song, and then made my way to the women's room.

No, I'm not going to tell you about me toilet habits; I believe in being detailed, but there are some details I'm convinced no one wants to hear about. (And if you do want to hear about it, never ever tell me.)

There was no one in there. There would be. So I went into a stall, locked it, and sat.

And sat.

And sat.

People were coming in and out, but no one noticed, really, that I wasn't leaving; or if they did, they weren't saying anything. It wasn't crowded enough for people to be pounding on the door.

Unfortunately, not the right people. Sunnydale High students gossiped, like students everywhere do; but I needed to know this would get back to Buffy, and soon, and random student A wasn't necessarily guaranteed to spread the information in the right direction.

Something no one bothers telling you about the life of a private detective is the intense boredom that you occasionally experience. The difference between a competent one and an excellent one is how well you deal with the boredom. You can't deal with it in any manner that's likely to distract you. I usually bring a mindless book – a cheap romance, a Star Trek novel, something of that order.

After about fifteen minutes, right around the time I was wishing I'd brought that book with me, the right people came in:

The Cordettes. And, as a special added bonus, they were joined by Cordelia herself. They were doing their usual mix of saying how great each other looked and saying how horrible everyone else looked, and did you notice Veronica Mars was here, by herself, of course, what would you expect, just because she's been done by every member of the football team doesn't mean any of them would want to be seen with her in public, and on, and on.

It didn't bother me. The only insults that bother me are those that come from people I respect, and I respected Jake Kane more than I did the Cordettes. (Cordelia wasn't saying anything about me, although I wasn't reading much into that.)

So, after about thirty seconds of this, I took out my cell phone and said, "Really? Well, guess what I saw. Yeah, I was down on Onion Boulevard and had to dodge into Joyce Summers' art gallery – and I wish I hadn't. Yeah, Buffy's mom. No, it wasn't the art, though that sucked. She was frenching some guy. I don't know; looked like John Ritter. (Okay, I winced when I said it, but I'd seen Three's Company reruns, so I knew he existed here.) No, they caught me, made me promise not to tell Buffy. I know. It'd kill her if she found out. Okay. Talk to you later. I have to get back to my case." I audibly closed my cell phone and stuck it back in my purse.

The chatter in the room had slowed down as I was talking, stopping right around "frenching some guy." I stood up, flushed the toilet, and left the stall, to find a half-dozen women looking at me, and then quickly looking elsewhere and giggling.

"What?" I said, faking obliviousness. "TP on my shoe?" I made a production of looking down, saw nothing, shrugged, and left, with them giggling behind me.

I had a soda and danced a couple of times over the next half hour; only once with someone:

Logan.

He didn't make a move of any sort; it was more of an excuse to talk privately, which we hadn't had much of a chance to do in a while.

"Logan," I said. "Aren't you afraid you'll damage your reputation?" The Cordettes were giggling and pointing.

"Like I care what most of these people think, Mars," he said. "Consider this my latest of charity towards the less privileged. Gotta keep up that Echolls reputation while Daddy Dearest is away."

"Movie?"

"Interview with Esquire. Mom's with him. Unfortunately." Right. Lynn Echolls. Add that to my list of things to improve. She wasn't going to kill herself this time around, if I had anything to do with it.

"Ah," I said.

"I also wanted to check in on the status of our weekend meeting."

Hmmm. I hadn't had a chance to come up with anything, but I could probably get something together.

I had a thought. "If the people at the magic shop are up for it, we'll meet there and take a tour."

"I've been there. It won't take that long," he said.

"I was thinking of asking the owner to tell us what certain things were," I said. "Admittedly, we're now heading into advanced territory. We've covered most of what I know about the common supernatural beasties, so it's either this or discussing which demons kill people with poison, which with mucus, and which with their claws."

"A tour it is," he said. The music ended, and he bowed. "Always a pleasure," he said. "Have a good evening."

A few minutes later, having thrown off anyone who might have thought I was trying some scheme or other, I left. Buffy hadn't shown up, but Xander and Willow had. Buffy was probably busy with an early patrol. I nodded to Xander and Willow before I took off.

No vampires in the area; at least, no obvious ones. The ones who attacked tended to move down the alley, because even the notorious deliberate ignorance of Sunnydale denizens stopped short of watching someone get murdered in front of you.

I kept my hand on my water pistol until I made it back to my car.

Now, home.

We'd see whether my plan had had the results I was hoping for, tomorrow morning.

X X X X X

An uneventful night; neither the Adversary nor Lilly had made any significant appearances in my dreams recently, though they did both cameo in another one.

(As did the Cheese Man. I don't care what Joss said. That guy meant something. Maybe he was just a really, really minor deity.)

Since neither Lilly nor the Adversary bothered talking to me, I couldn't tell if it was actually them reminding me of their existence, or just my own overworked subconscious. The dream itself involved me, on stage, doing one of those plate spinning routines, running from stick to stick to stop them from falling.

I wonder what that means. (And by that I mean, I know damn well what that means.)

Dad wasn't here. I fed Backup, walked him, told him how very very glad I was to have his doggie presence here in Sunnydale, accepted some kisses, and started making my own breakfast.

My pouring of cereal into bowl was interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone.

It was Buffy. "Hello," I said. "What's up?"

"Business," she said angrily.

"Whose?" I asked. "And why does it have you sounding like you want go punch your way through a few walls?"

"Yours. And I do," she said. "Mind if I come in?"

I was about to answer when I heard a knock at the door. "If that's you, the door is open. If that's not you, it was a hell of a coincidence."

The door opened and Buffy walked through it.

"Okay, then. Not a coincidence." I hung up my phone. "What's the problem?"

"My mom," she said, shuddering, "Is dating someone." The way she said it, it was like Joyce had committed mass murder.

"Not good?"

"Not good. I want you find out everything you can about him."

I love it when a plan --

Naaah. To really pull that line off, I need a cigar.

But you get the gist.


	55. Teeing Ted

Author's Note: If you missed the first 300 words of the previous chapter, go back and give it a reread; I forgot to include it when I originally uploaded it.

X X X X X

"Okay," I said. "Sit down. Calm down. Did you see the guy do anything suspicious? Suspicious making you come to me, I mean. Because if he was suspicious by your standards, you would have Slain him already."

"Don't think I haven't thought of it," Buffy said. "But no, I haven't seen him do anything suspicious. Because I haven't seen him, period."

"Then how do you know about him? Did your Mom tell you?" Going through the motions. My favorite Sunnydale sport.

She snorted. "Right. Mom didn't tell me anything. No, I heard about it from Xander, who heard about it from Willow, who heard about it from Devon, who heard about it from 'some hot blonde chick,' direct quote. I did another patrol on the way home, beat the living hell out of two vampires who probably didn't deserve quite the beating I gave them, and then confronted Mom about five seconds after I walked in the front door."

"Okay," I said, relieved that the trail had gone through Devon, for whom "hot blonde chick" was a description of about half the people he'd talked to last night, and also relieved that Buffy hadn't pushed it any further. "What's got you so upset about this?" Then, realizing that I didn't want a pissed Buffy storming off, added quickly, "That she didn't tell you about it?" I knew it was more than that; it wasn't one of Buffy's prettier character traits, that she, at least up until the third season, didn't seem to think her mother should be dating anyone. That anger she expressed in Earshot when she read her mother's mind and saw her and Giles having sex wasn't just the typical teenage horror at the concept of their parents having sex.

And yes, I know, "Physician, heal thyself," but I like to think I've matured somewhat in the last two years. I'm perfectly fine with the concept of Keith Mars dating and having sex. Just as soon as I move out.

"Yeah," Buffy said unconvincingly. "That's it. That she didn't want me to meet the guy makes me think there's some reason she doesn't want me to meet him."

"Okay," I said. "Did you get any information out of your mother or did you just yell at her?"

She glared at me; a "whose side are you on" glare, I know it well, having gotten it from most of the people I know, in Neptune or Sunnydale, at some time or other. "It would be pretty dumb of me to be able to not tell you anything."

An awkward silence followed.

"Well?"

"So I'm dumb," she said. "His name is Ted and he's a wonderful man. At least according to Mom." Buffy's tone indicated she wouldn't have believed her mother if she'd told her that Ted was short for Theodore.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, there can't be more than twenty thousand or so Teds in the state of California. I'll do some research and get back to you sometime in August."

Sighing, Buffy said, "Okay. I get it. You need more information."

"Yes. I do." After a second, I added, "Go back and talk to your Mom about him. The more you give me, the more I can look up." Going through the motions could be damned aggravating. I could tell Buffy all about Ted Buchanan, computer guru, food drugger, killer robot, except that if I did that, I'd lose my bet with the Adversary.

I couldn't even do any official research until she gave me the go-ahead.

Remember what I almost said about plans coming together?

Forget it. The plan's nowhere close to together yet.

I shouldn't take that out on Buffy, though. "The sooner you get me the information I need --" I said tentatively.

"Yeah, I know," Buffy said. "Sorry. Shouldn't have come over here without being able to tell you something. I'll get back to you as soon as I can." She sighed. "I don't have a whole lot I can pay you, though --"

I laughed. "Pay me. Right. Buffy, you saved me from a psychotic vampire. This? On the house. Don't worry about it."

She smiled slightly. "Okay. I won't. Thanks."

"What are fellow SOB's for?"

She left, and I got back to my breakfast, and the process of figuring out what to do with my suddenly open morning.

X X X X X

Answer: Nothing.

And no, that doesn't mean I sat on the floor in a lotus position. But I didn't do homework, try to work out a lesson plan, or try to influence the future.

I finished my breakfast; I watched TV; I read a book; I played with Backup, who was grateful for the attention.

I got a nice long bath.

And then, after a couple of blissful hours of doing absolutely nothing, I started doing something again.

X X X X X

First, I called down to the magic shop; Rae answered, and was amenable to my "guided tour" lesson plan for tomorrow. "Sheila should already know more about this than your other friend," she said.

"Yeah, but I haven't noticed her doing a lot of spells that need material components," I said. "No obscure herbs, eyes of newt, or even sand."

"True," Rae said. "Still, she's at least read about them."

"Speaking of novice witches," I asked, "How's Willow doing?"

"She's got the meditation part down pat, but otherwise, not much. She has been practicing a little bit of telekinesis, but so far she's having trouble lifting anything heavier than a pencil."

Good. "Good," I said. "I was hoping she'd go slowly.

"I remember," Rae said. "Still, at this rate, she'll be able to create witchfire sometime around her fortieth birthday."

"Better to go slow," I said. "We don't want her barreling towards having more power than she can handle."

"With great power comes great responsibility?" Rae said wryly.

"Something like that, Uncle Ben," I said. "Sheila appears to get that, or at least not to be particularly prone to enticements to more power."

"Which is good. By the way, you might want to warn her."

"Warn her about what?" I asked.

"There's this wizard who hangs around Sunnydale, looking for young witches to corrupt."

Damn it to hell. Rack was in town. "You mean, turns them into bad guys?"

"No; he turns them into magic junkies. His name's Rack; he's the equivalent of a pusher. He feeds them spells, for pay, that get them high on their magic. I don't think he'd be interested in Willow, but someone like Sheila would be right up his alley. They need to stay away from him. Sheila particularly."

Yeah, damn right they do. As soon as I'm done with Ted, I am going to make sure Rack is taken down.

"Thanks for the warning." I wondered if Amy had met him yet. I wondered if it would make a difference, if she hadn't.

And no, I'm not going to get back on my high horse about how season 6 Willow wasn't an addict, and how anyone who thought she was, including the characters, was reading it wrong. That's not relevant right now. Whether Willow was an addict or not, Rack was sure as hell a pusher.

"I'll definitely pass it on – or do you think maybe the Slayer should --?"

"Might be a good idea," she said. "Anyway, I'll things set up for you and your friends tomorrow."

"Thanks," I said somewhat absently, and hung up.

See, Veronica? This is what happens when you take time off.

X X X X X

I was still thinking things over when I got another phone call:

Buffy, this time. And now, she had information on Ted:

Ted Buchanan. Computer wizard. He and Joyce met when . . . but I knew all this stuff already.

The difference was, now I could do something about it.

"Okay," I said when Buffy was done. "Thanks. That should be plenty."

"She wants me to meet him," Buffy said, sounding as though she'd rather meet Vampire bin Laden. "I want you to be there. Mom said I could bring friends."

"When and where?" I asked.

"This afternoon, around 4. The new miniature golf course."

"It's open?" I asked.

"It's open. Can you make it?"

I nodded my head. "I can make it," I said, and hoped that they wouldn't mention that I'd met Ted before.

"Cool. See you there. And Veronica?'

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

There was a lot of emotion invested in that thanks, particularly for someone who just thought the concept of her mom dating was icky icky gross.

"Anytime," I said, and hung up.

First things first: Whatever baked goods Ted brought with him, I was allergic. Even if it was just sugar cookies. This situation did not call for happy Veronica.

(Would that more situations did.)

In the meantime: There was research to be done.

I'd just fired up my computer when I remembered that Ted was a computer expert. I didn't know if he had something capable of tracing people looking for him, but if he did, I sure as hell didn't want him tracing the search directly back to me.

That also left out the computer lab at the high school, because even if he couldn't trace me, directly, he'd get suspicious about Buffy, anyway, and the one at the office was out for obvious reasons.

Still not a problem.

Time for another trip to the Sunnydale Public Library.

I almost invited Willow to come with me – who better to try to keep out a computer expert, in this timeline, anyway? – but decided that the longer the Scooby Gang was kept out of this, the better. Sure, Buffy had probably already vented to them, but better to keep them away from Ted and his happy pastries as long as possible, also.

The library would give me anonymity, long enough.

And if that wasn't enough, I also had my fake id collection, which included, yes, a fake library card, although I couldn't say it was for just such an emergency, because, honestly, who can foresee an emergency like this?

So, time to break out the wig, short skirt, and high heels; enough to change my appearance, not enough that it looked like I was trying to look inconspicuous. (Nothing stands out more than someone doing his damnedest not to stand out.)

I got a call from Dad while I was getting ready; he hadn't found Abel Koontz's prostitute pal yet, but he was damned close.

Good. Very good. Get Abel Koontz out and then we can start working on getting Aaron Echolls in.

"How's your weekend?" he asked.

"Buffy's mom's dating someone. Buffy doesn't approve, so she asked me to check him out."

"Do you think she has any reason to be concerned?"

"Not really," I lied, "But if it'll make her feel better, I've got no problems running the background check."

"Okay. Doesn't sound dangerous." Oh, Dad, you have no idea.

I made light of it. "If it is, then I'm doing it wrong."

"Or you're looking up a mob boss," Dad said. "Sweetie? If it turns out he's a mob moss? Stop looking stuff up."

"I will," I said. "Good luck on the hooker hunt."

I hung up and headed to the library, parking a couple of blocks away, just to satisfy my paranoia that no one on the street would recognize the car, know it was mine, and wonder who the tallerish brunette chick is getting into it.

So: Research time.

The one suspicious thing I remembered about Ted Buchanan, suspicious apart from the "drug-happy killer robot" thing, of course, is that he had four previous wives and had married the first one in 1957; and you would have thought someone would have brought up, "Hey, Dude, you don't look old enough to remember the Second World War," but maybe they just assumed he was well-preserved for his age, so that wasn't a smoking gun, just a suspicious point.

Still, he'd gotten married four times and had never gotten divorced. That? Should have raised flags. Should have raised enough flags for a second UN. Even in Sunnydale. Maybe Ted did Mayor Wilkins' computer work, or something. Because even if Ted Buchanan's first four wives had simply run away from him (which would have said something all by itself), he'd need to get a divorce –

Or have her declared dead. I knew what to look for now

Hacker girl, I wasn't, but I didn't need to be. My computer research didn't show me much more than the name of Ted's company and a few pixilated pictures; he hadn't shown up in any suspicious news stories in the last ten years, not even a wedding, so apparently his previous wives' disappearances had come before 1987, not to mention the marriages themselves.

Still, my research wasn't stalled. One of the good things you learn from having a PI for a dad is that not all sources of information are computerized, not even in the 21st century, never mind nearly a decade earlier.

Judicious and prolonged searching through Lexis-Nexis, microfilm, and the library's actual archive of copies of the Sunnydale Press going back over fifty years took a couple of hours, but was well rewarded.

About a dozen photocopies and printouts later, and I was ready to go.

In the half hour I had between the time I got home and the time I had to leave for miniature golf, I called Sheila (and tried to call Willow) to warn them about Rack.

"Shit, manhunter," Sheila said. "Before I met you that would've sounded like fun. Now, it doesn't."

I think she was kidding. "Would you rather--?"

"'mnot dumb. Course not," she said. "And it doesn't really sound fun. Rae doesn't like it, you don't like it, I don't like it."

"Cool. Talk to you later."

Willow wasn't home.

And, given the typical Mars luck, that meant she and Xander were at or near the miniature golf course, just waiting to gulp down some of Ted's yummy pastries.

Speaking of: My stomach grumbled. I gulped down another bowl of cereal, took Backup for a five-minute walk -- he knew when we had time to run and play, and when we didn't -- fed him, apologized to him, and took off.

I got to the miniature golf course; everyone was waiting by Joyce Summers' SUV.

And by everyone, I meant everyone: Joyce. Ted. Buffy. Xander. Willow.

Big picnic basket o'pastries and cookies, from which Joyce, Xander and Willow were cheerfully eating. Buffy not, fortunately, but still --

Why couldn't I be wrong about these things, every once in a while? Sometimes I swear the universe runs as though designed to show me that, no matter how pessimistic I am about the way things are going, things could and will be worse.

I walked up; everyone said hello.

"Want a cookie?" Ted asked.

"Try one, Veronica," Willow said enthusiastically. "They're really good!"

"I'm not hungry right now -- I had a big snack right before I came here," I said.

Xander said, between bites, "Mmmm. You don't know what you're missing. Mrs. Summers, if you don't marry this man, I will."

Ted laughed; Buffy glowered; Joyce, Xander and Willow didn't notice.

It was okay. Soon enough Buffy would have a much happier look on her face.

I'd found the smoking gun we both needed.

See, it was barely possible for Ted to have gotten married for the first time forty years ago, if he married young and was exceptionally well-preserved.

What wasn't possible was for Ted to have looked the same in 1957 as he does today.

But he does in his wedding announcement . . . .


	56. Being Ted

I have no idea what the exact timeline was, but Ted Buchanan ("Theodore Buchanan Jr.," the same name he used on his computer company's website) was listed as being 29 in 1957, in the wedding announcement, when he married his first wife. So he doesn't look exactly the same; he looks a bit younger in the photocopy. But only a bit. Not forty years younger. And he sure as hell doesn't look to be around seventy now, no matter how much plastic surgery and Grecian Formula might have been involved.

There is a second wedding announcement, in 1972, and a third, in 1981. I wasn't able to locate a fourth -- but that doesn't matter. He looks pretty much the way he does now in both of them as well, which means we have at least a little Picture of Dorian Gray action going, if nothing else. Certainly enough to raise suspicions, certainly in Buffy, probably even in Xander and Willow, once they detox.

In the meantime, I still needed to fake my way through a round of miniature golf -- not from the physical side of things, in which I am reasonably competent, but from the friendliness side, knowing what I know about Ted Buchanan and his plans for Joyce and Buffy.

Telling him off now would not only get me nowhere, it would get me and Buffy in serious trouble, and I think we'd probably both be better off avoiding that.

I followed everyone else onto the golf course.

Everything was fine; the "par five cuckoo clock" hole conversation went more or less as I remembered it from the show, except that I managed to tap Buffy on the shoulder and say, "Hang back a second," when Ted steadied Joyce's swing. I found it as revolting as Buffy did, though for different reasons, and I managed to keep my look of horror off of my face.

I realized we were doing this, probably, about a week earlier than in the original timeline; working from memory as I was, it still seemed to me like the miniature golf outing occurred on a weekend, and since Buffy hadn't come home last night to find Joyce making out with Ted, I knew their initial encounter had come, at the earliest, next Monday morning.

Still, the only really different thing about this encounter was my presence, it seemed.

"What?" Buffy said.

"I found something."

"What?"

"I can't tell you about it now. Let's just get through this so I can show it to you and everyone."

"Everyone?"

"Not your mom."

Before Buffy could answer, Ted peered from around the curve ahead and said, "You girls coming? Not right to keep us waiting, you know." The tone was light, friendly; nothing anyone reasonable could object to.

"On our way!" I yelled out in a friendly manner. As we caught up with the group, I muttered, "Be civil, at least, while we're here. You don't need to be his best friend, but we need to wait until we're away, and not make anyone suspicious. Okay?"

"Okay," Buffy said, and though she wasn't the jolliest golfer on God's green earth for the next half hour or so, she was polite and did her best to avoid sounding like she'd rather be "anywhere but here."

And then came the hole with the little castle. I'd debated with myself (because, really, who else was I going to debate? I bring this up to anyone else and the Adversary declares himself the winner of our little wager and I get shipped off to wherever he's going to ship me off to, be it Hell, oblivion or Pittsburgh) whether I should specifically try to forestall the upcoming confrontation between Ted and Buffy or let it go.

What was my decision? Observe:

Buffy hit the ball wildly into the bushes; Ted set about convincing Joyce to count the shot:

"The rules are the rules," he said. "What we teach her is what she takes into the world when we're not there, whether it's at school or an unchaperoned party."

He smiled at Buffy. "I don't mean to overstep my bounds; this is between you and your mother. I just think right is right."

Joyce said, "He has a point."

Before Buffy could respond, surlily or otherwise, I said, "Come on, Buffy. I'll go help you find it?"

"Yeah, well, yours ended up right in the hole," Buffy grumbled as we headed off into the bushes.

At which point, I turned on the tape recorder I had in my pocket.

Tape recorder? I hear you asking. Where did that come from?

Japan.

Assuming you're not satisfied with the continuing exploits of Veronica Mars, girl smartass, I'll just say that this was my intention all along, assuming that things went more or less the way they had in the first timeline, which so far they had.

And where had I gotten it? My dad's a PI, remember? Even at our comparatively low-budget operation we have a dozen or so recording devices, ranging from pocket tape recorders to "wires" that wouldn't be found on a cursory patdown. I'd had enough time on my ride here to pick it up and set it so it was ready to go on a moment's notice.

In the meantime, we'd found Buffy's ball. She looked at me sheepishly as she picked up the ball; I shrugged, to indicate "I won't tell if you don't." Then she dropped the ball near the hole and knocked it in.

"Hole in two!" I yelled out.

"Beg to differ," Ted said from behind me. I don't think I've ever stepped to the side faster in my life.

"Okay," Buffy said, "So fine my score, or whatever."

"I think you're missing the point here, ladies," Ted said, tapping the golf club rhythmically against his show. "Right is right, wrong is wrong. Why don't people see that?"

Yes," I said, "And if we were playing for money, honor, or in any kind of organized league, I'd be right up there with you. But we're not. We're playing for fun. There's a big difference." Yes, I was deliberately trying to press his buttons, to see if maybe I could goad him into something tremendously revealing then and there, I wasn't counting on it -- thus the tape recorder -- but it was kind of nice for a secondary plan. It did require some guts, though.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "It's not like this means anything in the long run. It's just a game."

Golf club still tapping in rhythm, Ted said. "Right. Big difference. Just for fun. It's just a game. What's the big deal?" He stepped closer to Buffy, though he spared a glare or two for me as he did so. "Ladies, I'm not wired that way. Let me tell you: There is no difference. It's not a game and it's not just for fun and I don't stand for that kind of malarkey in my house."

"It's a good thing I'm not in your house," Buffy said.

"And I'm definitely not," I said. "You don't get to give me moral lectures." I took a step forward, intentionally, still trying to goad him.

"Do you want me to slap those smart ass grins of yours off your faces?"

Okay. Here's where the guts came in. I stepped forward and said, "I'd like to see you try. My Dad would kick your ass from here to Santa Monica."

He raised his hand --

And right then is when Joyce, Willow and Xander walked up. Ted moved his hand smoothly to the back of his neck and started to scratch.

Shit. Almost. Almost, I got him to demonstrate what he really was.

Horseshoes and hand grenades, unfortunately. Back to plan A.

"Everything okay?" Joyce asked.

"Everything's great!" Ted said. "Veronica and I were just having a philosophical discussion on cheating and morality. Right?"

Buffy started to answer, but I said, "Right is right," and stepped back towards Buffy to calm her down.

"Oooh!" Willow said "Philosophical discussions? Where were you going?"

I whispered, "Wait," to Buffy, and then, and then, to Willow, "Ted was arguing for a rigid form of morality -- black-and-white, no shades of gray."

"That is the way the world works, little lady," Ted said.

"And I was saying that there was such a thing as right and wrong, but that it didn't necessarily apply to all situations, all of the time. That's all."

"Odd place to get into that," Joyce said.

"Not really," Ted said. "Now, who wants some chocolate chip cookies?"

"I do," Willow said.

"Chocolate chip cookies? You've been holding out on us, man," Xander said.

"Veronica? Buffy?"

Buffy shook her head no. Ted said, "Veronica? I made too many; you guys are going to have to take some home with you."

I stepped forward, took a baggie, and said, "Thank you."

After Joyce's unsuccessful attempt to coax Buffy into trying just one yummy cookie, we moved on to the next hole. I clicked off the tape recorder once Ted was out of sight.

"Why didn't you tell them?" Buffy said.

"No point in bringing it up now," I said. "Haven't you noticed how everyone else has been acting weird?"

"You think it's some kind of spell?" Buffy asked.

"No, then you and I would be feeling the love, too, and right now, I feel the loathe. Once he didn't slap me, there was no point; it would have taken him actually doing it to convince them of anything."

"So what, then?"

"I'm not sure," I lied. "Maybe it's in the cookies. You haven't eaten any?"

"Hell, no," Buffy said. "I'd sooner eat dog food."

"Buffy? Veronica?" Joyce said from ahead.

"Coming!" I called.

Only ten more holes to go.

X X X X X

Ten, of course, of the longest holes of Buffy's and my lives. And if I'd thought I was going to get to talk to Buffy immediately afterwards, I was sadly mistaken. Once we were done, Joyce, not looking particularly happy with Buffy, asked me if I could take Willow and Xander home. I said yes, and she, Ted, and Buffy took off, leaving me no more than one "I-promise" look to let Buffy know that yes, she was right, and yes, at some point, I would tell her everything.

For the moment, though, I had happy Xander and they call her mellow Willow hanging out in my car and, in Xander's case at least, starting to munch his way through even more cookies.

Lovely.

Still, mellow was good for me, to some extent, anyway. I said, "You guys in a hurry in to get anywhere?"

"No," Willow said.

"There's really way too much hurrying in this world," Xander said. "What we need is more chances to slow down.

"Good," I said. "Because I have a call to make and then we have a stop to make."

"We do?" Willow said.

"Yup. Just trust me."

They trusted me. Of course, with as much tranquilizer as they had in their systems right then, they probably would have trusted me if I'd invited them to a three-way with Spike, while Drusilla and I watched and compared notes.

I called Giles and, by invoking the Hellmouth and all of its effects, managed to convince him to meet me at the library as soon as possible.

Cordelia was even easier to convince, though I wasn't particularly happy why.

"What do you want?" she said.

"I need you to come to the library," I said.

"Is it about fangy things?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I just know that you'll tell the truth if you think I'm being an idiot. I'll owe you one."

"Oh, hell no, Veronica Mars; you'll owe me two."

"Huh?" I said.

"Don't huh me," she said. "I know damn well you wanted us to spread that rumor last night. You don't gossip. Not to anyone, about anything, and if you're passing on information for one of your cases you sure as hell don't do in the women's room at the Bronze. You're not that stupid. So. We did what you wanted last night --"

Boy, was I glad this phone didn't have a "speaker" option. "And now I owe you? Why you and not them?"

She laughed. "You think they figured it out?"

"Hell no. I'm surprised they figure out how to dress in the mornings."

"Better than you do," Cordelia said. "Okay. I'll be there."

"Thank you," I said, ignoring the casual insult, "But I'll still only owe you one."

"Right," she said. "Me and loserboy in the closet. I was hoping you'd forgotten that. One it is."

I hung up.

Thirty-three minutes later, I began my presentation. I explained everything from the beginning, not exempting Buffy's obvious bias against Ted -- in fact, I emphasized it, but made sure they knew that I hadn't started out that way (lying through my teeth, of course, but they didn't know that). I presented the evidence, detailed the encounter where Ted nearly slapped me, and finished by handing over the cookies. "I don't know how to scientifically test these --" I said.

"I do," Willow said. She and Xander had objected at the beginning to my characterization of Ted as a definite son of a bitch and possible magic-influenced bad guy (couldn't bring up robot, because honestly, even given Malcolm/Moloch, who the hell expects robot, even in Sunnydale?) but after I presented my evidence, they got quieter and quieter.

"Please do, then," I said. "The two of you and Buffy's Mom came across Ted when he was less than half a second away from slapping me and you bought our explanation about 'a philosophical' discussion. I think Harmony would have known he was going to slap me. You guys, though --"

"Sorry," Willow said sheepishly.

"Nothing to be sorry about," I said. "Under the influence of whatever means you get a pass from woulda-shoulda-couldas, at least at the moment. So. Mr. Giles. Cordelia. What do you two think? Am I onto something?"

Giles nodded. "Something, most definitely," he said. "What it is remains to be seen. Certainly you've proven, to my satisfaction anyway, that he's not a fit companion for Buffy's mother. Whether you've proven he's in Buffy's specialty rather than yours remains a bit, well, nebulous."

"Yeah. Sounds like a major-grade loser," Cordelia said. "Though I think you're wrong about one thing." She directed that last part to Giles, not me.

"Really?" Giles asked. "What?"

"He looks what? Maybe ten years older now than he did in 1957 but otherwise the same? No way that's plastic surgery. I mean, come on! Why would he just look like that if he'd had surgery? No chance. He could have seriously studded himself up. No, I think this definitely falls into Buffy's freakoid category to deal with."

"Certainly, there is enough there to be worth investigating," Giles said.

"Glad that you all agree with me. So," I said with mock gung-ho enthusiasm, "Who's up for a little breaking and entering tomorrow morning? Huh? Huh?"


	57. Seething Ted

Author's Note: The takedown begins. Read that in the same fashion as "before season one is over, we will definitely show you what's under the hatch."

X X X X X

"I believe one of America's great thinkers put it best," Giles said, "When he said, 'Gentlemen: Include me out.'"

"Samuel Goldwyn," I said. "Always appropriate." A father with a passion for classic movies has broadened my horizons considerably. Goldywn, for those who have no clue, was one of the great old-time movie producers, whose talent for Zen-like lines was matched only by Yogi Berra.

And that concludes the educational portion of our show. I added, "Are you going for plausible deniability or do you genuinely disapprove?" I was hoping it wasn't the latter.

"I believe answering your question would mean that the first option could not be correct," Giles said, and then stood up and went into the office.

"Wait," Xander said. "I'm confused."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. She really was a master at that. "It means, tofu-for-brains, that if Giles knew we were about to break into someone's house, he'd have to tell someone, so he doesn't want to know. Sheesh."

"Giles wouldn't abandon us!" Willow said

"He's not," I said. "This is him approving without actually saying he approves. It'll be okay." After a second, "Does that mean the rest of you are up to it?"

Xander said, "Yeah. But why wait?"

"Because I said so," I said.

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Good enough," he said. Exactly what I thought. Still under the influence of the tranquilizer; too much so to be of much help in an actual break-in, even if there wasn't the possibility of Ted coming home any time.

Which applied to tomorrow morning, as well, but Ted seemed like the kind of robot who went to church on a regular basis, given that he seemed to be driven by his nostalgic pseudo-1950s morality (Our Lady of Perpetual Motion, anyone?)

"And that's why we're waiting." I said. "Plus, I'm sure Willow wants to get to analyzing these cookies as soon as she can."

"Yeah," Willow said. "I'll go and check that as soon as we're done here."

"So are you good for tomorrow?" I asked.

"Oh, of course!" Willow said. "I don't want someone messing with my head, or Buffy's mom!"

"Cordelia?" I asked, not expecting anything other than the equivalent of, "Hell no." Not that we needed her; this wasn't one of those situations where her presence had been vital in the original timeline.

Once again, Cordelia Chase thrived by both living up to and confounding expectations. "I'm not going to break in anywhere," she said, "Who do you think I am, Veronica Mars? Sheila Kelly?" and, just as I was about to say, "Well, thanks for your help," mixed with a defense of Sheila, she added, "Besides, you numbskulls are likely to still be inside when creepy-guy gets back if you don't have someone outside keeping an eye out for him. Not that I care if you people end up in jail, because I'm kind of expecting that anyway. But it might upset Buffy, and what she does is kind of important."

"So you're volunteering to be the lookout?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, as though talking to the dumbest person on earth (but really, when doesn't Cordelia Chase talk like that?).

"Thank you," I said. "I do appreciate it." After a second, I added, "But I still only owe you one."

She rolled her eyes again.

X X X X X

Willow found, as I knew she would, the fictional (but not in the Buffyverse) tranquilizer in the cookies; we confiscated the portions Willow and Xander had left, printed up multiple copies of the impromptu report Willow wrote out (no, she's no Gil Grissom, but she could whip out a page of analysis that looked convincing enough to me, anyway, and probably would have convinced Dad), and then left the school building. No one wandered by to ask what we were doing there, including, fortunately, any vampires, because now was not the time for Spike and Drusilla to put in any surprise appearances.

They'd been laying low for the last couple of weeks, thank goodness, except for Drusilla's conversation with me in Dad's office. Buffy had been trying to track them down, but none of the vampires Buffy caught knew anything about where they were, and neither did Willy, for that matter. Vampires healed faster than humans did, but an arm broken as badly as Spike's had been would still take a solid month or so, according to Angel, and it was just over two weeks at this point.

(Of course, this meant he'd be ready for full-time action again sometime around Christmas. Nice bit of irony, that, but not one I could worry about right now; and anyway, Giles and Buffy were already worrying about it. Which meant that I still was, of course, just that it wasn't at the top of my list.)

Still, while Willow had most of the cookies and one of the reports, I had one of each as well, just in case I needed to send it on to someone who could do a proper lab report. I was working to make sure this wouldn't go the route of "criminal trial," but I wanted to be prepared on the off chance it did.

And so, home for a couple of hours, where I spent an hour or so doing necessary homework, and another hour or so relaxing as best as I could, which involved paying attention to backup and making myself a quick dinner, which in the Mars household when I was by myself typically involved microwaving something.

That left getting in touch with Buffy. Now was patrolling time, but I didn't know whether "Ted, disciplinarian" has put in an appearance, or even whether anyone was home.

Simple way to check that. Around 9:30 or so, I headed out and parked by 1632 Revello Drive to see what I could see.

What I saw was a dark house with no vehicles in the driveway. Okay, so Joyce was out and Buffy, unless she'd sacked out awfully early, was out, either patrolling or Bronzing.

Safe option first. I headed to the Bronze. Willow and Xander were there. So was Sheila, to my surprise, and though she grinned when she saw me, she definitely didn't want to be interrupted, and neither did the guy she was with.

(I didn't have a vampire sense, but he didn't come across as someone who'd arrived in a time machine, and I assumed Sheila was being careful. She'd told me she was cutting way back on the wild life that had nearly gotten her killed, but that apparently didn't mean she wasn't up for a camping trip every now and again.)

So I dropped by the table where Xander and Willow were and said, "Any signs of Buffy?"

"Nope," Xander said. "She's out keeping the streets of Sunnydale safe."

"You make it sound like she's an actual superhero," Willow said. "And you're picturing her in spandex right now, aren't you?"

After a second, Xander said, "No. And please don't tell anyone."

I wasn't sure who would be more upset, Buffy or Cordelia, but they weren't going to hear about from me, anyway.

Buffy finally did put in an appearance about 45 minutes later, looking furious. I almost felt sorry for any vampires she'd run across tonight.

Almost.

She practically accosted me, half-dragging me to the upper level, where she said, "Okay. What the hell's going on?"

"You sure this is where you want to have the conversation?" I asked.

"Do you see Ted anywhere?" she said. I said that I didn't. "Then yes. Please."

I told her everything, starting with the wedding announcements and ending with Willow's discovery of the tranquilizer cookies.

"He. Drugged. My mother?" Buffy said angrily. "He drugged my friends? Oh no. That's it. I'm going over there and pounding him into the pavement."

She started walking, as though she was going to do it this very second.

This was definitely not what we needed to have happen. We needed proof positive, not righteous anger, and all Buffy storming out to find him was likely to do was earn us a rerun of the original timeline, only this time in public instead of at Revello Drive.

Sure, it might reveal that he was a robot. But it hadn't the first time. And I couldn't take that risk. Not yet. I wasn't going to chance Buffy's and my futures on a roll of the dice.

"No. Hold it," I said. "Bad idea. You wanted me to look into this. Let me finish looking into it. Tomorrow morning –"

"Tomorrow morning?" Buffy said. "Who knows what he might have done by tomorrow morning? No. I have to stop him tonight."

Terrific. "I'd say you have to go through me, but I know me, warm butter, and you, knife. Wait. Let's figure out if he's someone the cops have to deal with, or someone you need to." I grabbed her wrist, not that this would do anything more than slow her down for a few seconds if she decided to take off.

"Veronica," Buffy said in the calm before the storm, "Let go of my wrist."

"Are you going to go half-cocked off to beat the hell out of Ted?" When she didn't answer, I said, "Then I'm going to keep hanging on until you come to your senses. I get how angry you are," I said.

"Really? How?"

"My best friend was murdered," I said. "I have a reasonably good suspicion who did it. But it's not enough for me to know it. Everyone has to. Or there won't be any justice. I'd just be another loon who killed someone for no reason."

"We have the tranquilizers."

"In this town? Thee and me need ironclad proof. Willow's analysis of some cookies isn't even going to fall on Don Lamb's radar, no matter that's enough for you, me, and our friends. I have the same kind of evidence for my killer, and it would get me exactly the same treatment. If we don't find anything tomorrow –" I knew we would – "We can figure it out from there. Until then, calm down, pretend like nothing's going on, and keep taking it out on the vampires. Okay?"

A few seconds of silence (from her, anyway; we were in the Bronze, after all), and she said, finally, "Okay."

"severything okay?" came a voice from maybe eight feet away. Buffy and I looked up and saw Sheila standing there, looking ready to do violence, and possibly even looking forward to it.

"Everything's fine," I said, not wanting things to get worse than they already were. "Buffy and I were just having a discussion."

"Looked to me more like an argument," Sheila said.

"Okay, an argument," I said. "But we settled it. Right?"

"Right," Buffy said. Good. She'd calmed down enough that this wasn't going to be a problem.

"Good," Sheila said. "Watch yourself, Summers. I like you well enough, but I don't want to see it if even looking like you might be hurting Veronica again. Got it?" Whoa. I hadn't realized how serious this might have been until I heard Sheila use my name. I think she's only actually called me by it once or twice.

Buffy might not have recognized that particular sign, but she did figure out that this was no time to brush Sheila off. "Got it," she said.

"Good," Sheila repeated, looking down. "Shit. He left."

"The guy you were flirting with?" I said. "Sorry –"

"Not guy. Vampire." What? "I was trying to hold him here until you got here, Summers. He was over there--" she pointed – "Until about three minutes ago.

You sure?"

"Yeah," she said, and described him.

I noticed him first; he was walking towards the door with another girl. "I'll be right back," Buffy said, and sprinted down the stairs.

"No lectures, manhunter," she said. "I wasn't going to go after him myself 'less I had no choice. But I didn't want him goin' after anyone else, either."

I could understand that. And Sheila was better equipped to defend herself than 95% of Sunnydalers. Still.

I hit her on the arm. She said, "Ow!" and then glared. "What was that for?"

"You told me once not to go and get myself killed. I'm returning the favor. Next time, set this up with Buffy in advance."

"So let someone else die?"

"No .It's still fine to save people from the path of speeding trucks. But you don't need to stand out in the middle of the highway just in case."

I'd come to the realization – one that, no doubt, everyone else came to a long time ago – that I actually liked Sheila. Having her die, or hurt, would hurt me – just like my pain apparently would hurt her, if her willingness to challenge a known vampire Slayer was any indication.

"You have friends, Veronica Mars." Words of wisdom from someone who never existed, in this universe, anyway.

Yeah. I do. Still, why do I always seem to figure this out after everyone else does?

X X X X X

Night? Uneventful. Not even the Cheese Guy in my dreams, though the cheese grater I was carrying might have had something to do with it.

Dad didn't call; he had called, earlier in the day, while I was golfing, and left a message, and I left him a return one, not mentioning Ted at all, because really, my choice there was either to lie or spin, and Keith Mars would have picked up on that before I put down the phone.

His lead, tonight, was very promising. Good. Very good.

Next morning, less uneventful. Early calls to Willow and Xander got me an alert and angry Willow, and a male voice I couldn't make out but that kept asking me if I was cute, until Xander snatched the phone from what I presume was his father's hands and indicated his anger, embarrassment, gung-ho-attitude, and readiness to be picked up, all in the span of eighteen words that Fowler couldn't have diagrammed in two hours with help from Strunk and White.

As for Cordelia? She took the initiative, as you might have expected, and called me about five minutes after I got off the phone with Xander and got the time, the place, and how long it was expected to take.

Mental note: If this wasn't clear enough already, never underestimate Cordelia Chase. Even in season 2.

I gave her a time that gave me enough time to take Backup for a quick walk, feed him, make sure he understood that he was the best dog on the planet, yes he was, and that I very much appreciated his not destroying the apartment while Dad and I were away, yes I did.

I swung by, picked up Xander, whose father was still yelling at him as he walked out the front door, then Willow (and heard her astonishingly-there mother tell Willow to 'have fun with that girl Vanessa!'), and headed off.

Ah, Sunnydale. Home of parents who were simultaneously present and absent at the same time. Once again, I thanked any deity who might be listening that I had at least one good parent, which put me one up on everyone else except Buffy. (I sometimes wondered how Fred Burkle had managed to have two good ones. Maybe she'd lied on her application.)

We met Cordelia about five minutes later, a couple of blocks away from Ted's house.

"Okay," I said. "Now here's what I need you to do. You watch Ted until he leaves, and then follow him."

"Why me? You're the weirdo who thinks she's a detective."

"Because I'm the weirdo she's met, and you're the weirdo he hasn't. Me, Xander, and Willow? Guaranteed to raise suspicion in four out of five psychotic boyfriends. You, though --"

"I get it," she grumbled. "Okay." She drove off, and I chatted with Willow and Xander for fifteen minutes before Cordelia called the first time, saying that Ted had left, and prepped them until she called the second time, when Ted got to his church.

"Here's the hard part," I said. "Now you're going to have to park yourself there until church lets out -- and to be sure he's not trying to throw us off. Call us if he leaves and we'll call you when we leave."

An aggravated noise, but she'd volunteered, and she'd pull through, if only so she could bitch about it later.

"You guys ready?" I asked.

"Ready, willing, and somewhat terrified," Willow said.

"Xander?"

"Yeah. Let's figure out what this guy's deal is, so we can . . . undeal it."

"Let's go, then."

We stepped out of the car.


	58. Seizing Ted

Author's Note: A plan comes together. Some fragments of the episode are quoted here, not all by the original participants.

Despite the EXIT sign, I'm assuming that Ted maintained the fiction of an actual house, on the outside, anyway. He had to bake those cookies somewhere, and I doubt he always used his girlfriends' kitchens.

X X X X X

In the original timeline, they'd broken into a workroom to start off. Wherever the workroom was, it wasn't at the front of the house, which looked like a typical suburban house, though smaller than the one the Summers' lived in.

The neighbors weren't out and about, or peering through windows; still, we should probably make this look good, just in case.

I walked straight up to the front door and knocked, to Willow and Xander's horror. They ran up, Xander saying, "What in the name of Odin are you doing?"

"Making it look good," I said. "Quit standing out. Go over and look through the front window. See if you see anything."

Xander did so, and said, "A curtain. From the top to the bottom."

"Can you see anything?"

"It's white with some really neat beads."

"If I wanted fashion critiques, I'd have brought Cordelia. Willow?"

"Not really," she said. "It's dark inside. I can't see any furniture but I've only got a couple of cracks."

"Look around behind you while I knock on the door again," I said, not facing them. "See if there's anyone looking at us at all. Look at yards, windows, backyards, and cars."

After thirty seconds, Willow said, "If there's anyone there, they're hiding really really well. Like, we'd need Superman to find them well."

"What she said," Xander said. "All quiet on the Western front."

"Good. Then we can stop pretending to have a good reason we're here. Come on."

I led them quickly around the back. There was a tall wooden fence blocking our access -- easy enough to unlock, though. There wasn't a white picket one in front, though. Ted's somewhat creepy nostalgia for the 1950s apparently stopped somewhere.

Ah. And here we were: The workshop was at the back of the house. Xander tried the door and got nowhere. We peered through the window and saw the home junk room we all knew and loved from the episode. Xander reached down for a brick when I stopped him. "Let's not try to attract the attention of the neighbors," I said.

"I was just --"

"I know, and good idea -- just less noisy."

Okay, what's your idea?" he asked.

"Something a bit more subtle," I said, "And without that telltale sound of breaking glass that nosey neighbors and cops so tend to love."

"In Sunnydale?" Willow asked disbelievingly.

"Maybe today is the one day a year they feel like doing something," I said. "In any event, if Don Lamb sees any one of us, he'll be delighted. Donny's lazy and incompetent, but he's also mean when he can get away with it."

"And again with the, 'What's your idea?'" Xander said.

Once again, Keith Mars comes through. I pulled out a set of lockpicking tools from my pocket and proceeded to, yes, pick the lock.

"Can I--?" Xander asked.

"No," I said firmly. "It's barely okay that I'm using them." Not okay at all, if Dad found out. I'd get half a pass for "in the cause of good," but it would be taken away for "breaking into the home of a psychopath."

Fifteen seconds later, the door swung open and we found ourselves in Ted's workshop. It was full of machine parts, computer parts, and old furniture.

"You guys search here," I said. "Look for anything weird."

Willow nodded and started looking; Xander was still skeptical. He wasn't being hostile, just Xander. "There's enough mechanical junk here to create my own robot army," he said. "I think we're well past weird."

"Then look for well past weird," I said, and went off to look at the rest of the house, getting out my camera as I did.

The only furniture in the rest of the place was by the front door; serviceable stuff, enough to fool anyone who peered in. The bathroom had nothing -- no washcloths, no towels, not even toilet paper. I took pictures of that, though Ted was smart enough not to leave signs out saying, "I'm a killer robot." The few items of furniture that were there in no way looked used. I was reasonably sure Ted didn't bring his spouses back here until he was ready for the big reveal, and at that point they weren't going anywhere, anyway.

I took a couple more pictures; it would be enough for Dad, Buffy, and Giles at this point. Had to keep going through the motions.

Not hearing anything from Xander or Willow yet – I didn't think I would, unless they discovered the entrance to the secret basement – I went into the kitchen.

And here's where he was dumb.

First off, the only food he had in there was stuff he could use for baking: ingredients for cookies, pastries, and pizza. No vegetables, no fruit, no bread; yeah, you could assume he baked for every meal, making his own pancakes and frying up eggs every time, but it still looked really weird.

It was the only room I'd seen that looked used, at all. Everything else matched Cordelia's description of "No sign that anyone lives here." But then, she'd only been gone about a minute; she probably hadn't looked in the kitchen. The bathroom and the weird furniture pattern would have been enough to convince me, anyway.

That wasn't the dumb, though. That was the "suspicious if you're already suspicious." It wouldn't convince Joyce Summers and it sure as hell wouldn't convince Don Lamb.

The dumb was that he had all the stuff he used for baking in the kitchen.

The eggs.

The chocolate chips.

The cast iron skillets.

The tranquilizer.

Prescribed to him. Sitting in the cabinet in between the vanilla extract and the cinnamon.

I took a few more pictures – making sure to get at least one close-up of the label – and returned it to its place in the cabinet. This was proof. This was concrete, Don Lamb can't ignore it proof. How he'd gotten a doctor to prescribe it, I had no idea. Maybe he did the office computer system and asked for a return favor.

Right then, Willow yelped -- I'd say loud enough to wake the dead but in this town? All that required was a normal alarm clock – and Xander swore, though not as loudly.

I ran back to the workroom, hoping they'd found the hidden stairway to the basement dungeon, and found Willow studying something closely.

"What've you got there?"

Xander was still shuddering; Willow was in full on science-geek mode, and proudly displayed her discovery.

I looked at and repressed my own shudder. There's knowing, and there's knowing knowing.

It was an eye. A full-out, no-doubt about it robot eye, complete with human-like eyeball.

"Don't tell me Xander was right and Ted is building his own robot army," I said.

"I don't think so," Willow said. "At least, not the army part."

"One robot?"

"Yeah," Xander said. "Him." When I didn't say anything, Xander said, "Well, it would explain a lot."

"Like why he doesn't age," I said, "And why this house doesn't look lived in. The only new things I've seen here are the food and that one oriental rug."

It was more or less the same prompt Cordelia had used in the original timeline; and it had more or less the same result. Peeling back the rug, we found the trap door, and the concealed stairway.

"Willow?" I said.

"Yeah?" She was still looking through the machine parts.

"See if you can find anything else that looks like a body part – or maybe some plans." I doubted the plans; Ted would keep them in his head. Never hurt to check, though. "Any problems, yell once, and run." I handed her my cell phone. "Just in case I can't get reception down there." It wouldn't surprise if Ted had shielded it, somehow.

We walked down the stairs and found the perfect 1950s home, complete with curtained windows that, when I pulled the curtains aside, ended up looking out onto nothing at all. Xander flicked the light switch on, and the record player came on as well, playing Frank Sinatra.

"Lucy! I'm home!" Xander said as he walked down the stairs.

"Lucy Ricardo lived in an apartment in New York City," I said.

"You get the idea," he said. "This is straight out of sitcomland."

"Yeah." Cordelia's line was too good not to reuse; God, if you're out there, forgive me my plagiarism. "Just like home. If it's the '50s and you're a psychopath."

I took some a few pictures of the fully furnished basement, including the weird-ass windows and the secret staircase.

"Huh," Xander said. "What've you got in the closet, Ted?"

He pointed me towards the closet. And I surely pulled off a better performance than any Oscar winning actress in history by not flinching.

(Again, knowing knowing. I've seen dead bodies before, and I'm not just counting vampires. Up close and personal? An entirely different experience, and not a pleasant one. Something I hope I never get used to, in any universe.)

In the meantime, Xander opened the closet door.

"Veronica," he said. "Did you bring a flashlight?"

"No. Why?" I'd stupidly forgotten that the lights inside were kind of dim and didn't fully illuminate the inside of the closet. It's what happens when you try to balance everything in your head; eventually, something falls off.

"I'd like to know if I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing." He opened the closet the entire way and tilted a nearby floor lamp until it lit up the inside of inside of the closet. "And I am seeing it. "Holy shit. You wanted evidence, you got it."

"What's in there?" I forced myself to say.

"His first four wives," Xander said.

I steeled myself, stepped forward, turned the flash on my camera, and looked into the closet.

It was as bad as you think. It was worse than I'd allowed myself to think.

I took seven pictures. The light from the floor lamp was enough. "I have what we need," I said. We shut the door, moved the light back, flicked off the light, walked up the stairs, collected Willow, called Cordelia, and got the hell out of the neighborhood.

I'm not going to describe what I saw in there, unless I'm in a court of law.

I will say this much: They all had to go through hell. Wives two through four had had to see the evidence that the wives before them had as well.

X X X X X

We met back at the library, even Cordelia, who'd said, "I've come this far; I'm not going to stop now." Xander told her everything on the way back. Neither Willow nor I were in much of a mood to speak.

Yes, I knew what I was going to find. Forgive me if seeing four women who were tortured to death by a psychopath shakes me up a little.

Everyone was there; everyone Buffyverse, that is, except for Joyce.

We explained what we'd seen. Willow had found more evidence that Ted was a robot; enough to convince everyone in the room, anyway.

Working together, Giles and I managed to convince Buffy not to run off half-cocked to pound Ted into the pile of parts he so richly deserved to be.

"Wait until he's alone," I said. "Wait until tonight. You don't want witnesses."

"If it's a choice between my mother's life and exposing my existence to the world," Buffy said –

"Then you save your mom, and to hell with the secret identity," I said. '"But you don't want any witnesses when you beat up someone who looks human. At least, no witnesses who don't already know who and what he is. Not unless you have no choice."

"And it doesn't look like he likes to go berserk in public," Cordelia said. "So you don't need to worry about him locking up your mom in his dungeon until at least the next time they're alone."

"Mom's working at the gallery this afternoon," Buffy said. "They're getting together for some family time tonight. We're all supposed to watch some movies. My presence is not optional."

"When tonight?" I asked.

"7."

"What are you thinking, Veronica?" Willow asked.

"I'm thinking Buffy's going to need to watch that movie."

"Like hell," Buffy said.

"No. We need to wait until tonight. When he's not suspicious." After a second, I added, "When you have a firmly established alibi. And when it's dark."

X X X X X

Buffy gritted her teeth and agreed to try to make her way through it. I assured her she wouldn't have that much to make her way through.

We kept track of Ted for the rest of the day, trading off. Even Giles got involved. Me, not so much; I was busy trying to make sure everyone else knew what they were supposed to do.

At around 6:30, Ted, who apparently hadn't been aware of the earlier breaking and entering, left, with a basket full of baked goodies. Buffy, for her part, had a severe stomachache and wasn't hungry.

Dad called; the lead had fizzled, but he knew where Abel Koontz's hooker friend was going to be tonight for certain.

I told him my weekend was uneventful. I think he believed me.

Anyway. Ted showed up and was firmly ensconced in the Summers household by just after 7. The sun, of course, had set a long time previously – night came early in December, even in California.

So, while Cordelia kept an eye on the Summers household, Xander and Willow went to the Bronze and publicly stayed there, and Giles came with me to Ted's house. (Giles' Citroen? Far too noticeable. The idea now was to blend in, and the Citroen did that about as well as a stretch limo would have.)

Angel was there waiting for us. I'd spent a full hour giving him the lowdown on what was going on, and he was eager to help.

It wasn't enough to have Ted arrested; it wasn't enough to have him disappear. He had to disappear under mysterious circumstances with everyone knowing what he'd done. I didn't know if Ted qualified as the owner of the house. It would be easier if he didn't, but we weren't hanging our hopes on easy.

It wasn't easy. All Angel was able to do was kick open the back door, and then stand guard while Giles and I went inside. That was okay, for the moment. This time, we had a flashlight, and a Polaroid Camera, not the one I'd taken earlier, which was as secure as it could be, hidden back home.

We went inside, visibly rummaged around the top floor – with gloves on, of course -- and then headed down to the secret basement. Eventually, we opened the closet

Yes, I had to do this again. No, it wasn't fun.

Giles held the flashlight while I took three pictures of the contents of the closet, and then I went outside while Giles went to Ted's phone –

And called the police.

How could he justify being inside the house?

He couldn't. He was a burglar.

But the police could just come there and arrest him, because did he have something to show them, better get down here.

And that's when Giles and I left, leaving Angel the camera.

We parked down the street and waited.

Sure enough, Don Lamb and company weren't going to pass up an easy arrest like a burglar turning himself in. The sheriff himself showed up.

Angel told us this later: He showed them the photos; pointed to the stairway from the back door; and told them he wasn't going inside. Fortunately, they didn't try to force him.

Lamb went inside -- it was a crime scene, so he didn't need a warrant -- came outside, and threw up.

Normally I'd make fun of him, but not in this case. Then he started treating it like the multiple murder it was. Lamb was incompetent and corrupt, but even he had a sense of morals, however deep it was buried. This crossed that line. I'd known it would.

When the multiple cop cars started showing up, Angel made himself scarce, taking a spare moment to hop the fence to the neighbor's yard and start running.

He found me and Giles still parked a couple of blocks down the street and said, "Go."

We went. I called Buffy, who got thirty seconds; while she was telling me we had to talk later, I was telling her that our end of the deal was done.

I called Cordelia immediately afterwards; she took off.

I dropped off Giles at the high school, Angel two blocks from Revello Drive, and hied myself to the Bronze as fast as my LeBaron would take me.

Ted Buchanan left the Summers residence shortly before 11 PM.

And was never heard from again.


	59. Killed By

The police were pissed off; they'd lost a burglar (not that Lamb publicized this part), and somehow the serial killer they'd stumbled onto had figured out what they were up to and fled town.

They screamed the part about finding the serial killer and "a long-running investigation" and other assorted ego-puffery, and swore that one day they would find him.

Not unless they spent time at the town dump, they wouldn't; Angel had yanked Ted out of his car at a stop sign a couple of blocks away from Revello Drive, reduced him to his component parts in a fight he'd said was easier than he expected (hey, no one ever said he was the Terminator), and scattered those parts in half a dozen locations across Sunnydale.

No one would be rebuilding Ted.

I always wondered if there was any connection at all between Ted and Warren. They were no relation, and Warren didn't work at Ted's company; maybe Warren had found Ted's parts when they were "left on the scrap heap of life" and used them, or, sadly more likely, probably just a completely independent nut job with a flair for robotics.

Anyway, over wasn't over. The police grilled Joyce, and Buffy, and briefly chatted with me, Xander and Willow, about Ted Buchanan and his disappearance, and whether we knew anything about his various crimes.

I confessed that Buffy had asked me to look into him -- because there was the slim chance he might find out I was doing research -- but that all I'd found was that he'd been married four times.

"Oh, really?" Lamb had asked me. "Why did she ask?"

"I figured it was because no one was good enough for her mother," I said. "I certainly didn't realize he was a serial killer."

This time around, Lamb settled for just giving me a hard time; he had a lot more to deal with, which was not actually limited to "mass murderer discovered."

More on that in a minute.

Joyce Summers was devastated, of course, but grateful that she'd managed to dodge a major bullet. Buffy refrained from telling her anything like "I told you so" and was simply there for her mom over the next few weeks until the tumult died down.

Me, I didn't get off so easily, never mind that I managed to get the bastard taken care of.

I'd spared Joyce and Buffy quite a bit of pain -- Buffy more than Joyce, who was still dealing with the fact that she'd been dating a murderer (but at least she hadn't had the close encounter she'd had in the original timeline). Buffy, of course, didn't have to deal with thinking she'd killed a human being, not even for a minute.

Still, Buffy wanted to have been the one to take Ted down herself.

I understood that. Believe you me, I understood that. The night of graduation -- that night at the Neptune Grand? I found out soon after that someone had done the world a favor and killed Aaron Echolls. I didn't know who, though I had some strong suspicions.

Still, half of me was glad someone had done it, and the other half was upset it hadn't been me.

And Buffy felt the exact same way. Rationally, she knew why things had been arranged that way. Emotionally --

Ah, emotionally.

Anyway -- remember how I told you that Lamb had a lot to deal with?

That dealt with the phone call Dad made to me Monday night . . .

X X X X X

First, though, I had to get to Monday night. Not quite as easy as it sounds, particularly in Sunnydale – even though no vampires were involved.

Sunday night into Monday morning, I got two visits in my dreams.

The earlier, and more pleasant one, was from Lilly. We were sitting on the benches outside Sunnydale High.

"I'm fairly sure this isn't based on a genuine memory," I said.

"Oh, Veronica Mars," Lilly said. "What's real? What's fake?" She pointed down to her chest. "These are real. In case you were wondering."

I laughed. "I wasn't," I said. "And thanks for the image."

"Hey, it's an image a lot of people enjoyed," she said, tossing her hair back.

"Including Aaron Echolls," I said.

"And Xander Harris, and Weevil Navarro," she said, smiling broadly. "What can I say? I'm a giver."

"I think those two are mutually exclusive," I said wryly.

"I transcend all limitations," Lilly said. "I am universal. I am multiversal. Just like you, Veronica Mars."

"Not quite at your level," I said.

She laughed in delight. "No, of course not; but who is? Anyway, I just wanted to let you know you can stop worrying about me; I can take care of myself. You don't need to take care of me any more."

"I screwed this up the first time," I said. "I'm not going to make the same mistakes twice."

"I appreciate it. Really and truly," she said. "But for once, it isn't all about me."

I looked at her oddly. "Are you sure you're Lilly Kane?"

Another laugh. "Just this once. Trust me, Veronica Mars. Would I steer you wrong?"

I woke up, not screaming the way I sometimes did from a Lilly dream, and while I lay there awake made sure I'd give what Lilly said more thought when I was really awake and not lying in bed trying to get back to sleep, because I was fairly sure it meant something, even if I wasn't completely sure what.

Still, it was good to see Lilly again.

The later, and less pleasant one, was from no one's favorite uber-powerful supernatural being, back in his basement office in my apartment building.

At least this time The Adversary wasn't having us meet on the lip of a volcano this time. With this one, you had to be grateful for any crumbs he tossed.

"Ah," I said. "And what have I done to earn a visit this time?"

He said, "Something right."

I blinked. "Really?"

"Really," he said. "I do not lie. I have never once lied to you, Miss Mars. So when I say you've done something right, something that redounds quite heavily in your favor, you can believe me."

"Okay," I said. "I believe you. I assume you're talking about Ted Buchanan?"

"I am indeed," he said. "You've done more than you know, there, and it's all good. But sparing Buffy and Joyce Summers the pain of the original timeline is to your credit."

"Good," I said. "Still – I'm still here."

"No, the bet isn't over," he said. "No, you haven't won yet; you could definitely still lose, and very easily. But less easily, now."

"You're actually keeping score?" I said.

He seemed offended. "Of course I am. How would I know who won the wager otherwise?"

"I'd assumed you'd just swoop down and tell me one day, and then that would be the end of it."

"No," he said. "Nothing of the sort."

After a second, I said, "That's good to know."

"Can I see the score sheet?"

He laughed. "Of course not."

"So, are we done?" I said. "Because I'd like to try to get some sleep tonight, and between you and Lilly, I'm not getting a lot of relaxation done."

"Ah yes. Miss Kane."

Irritably, I said, "I told you to leave her out of it."

"I had nothing to do with the content of that dream," the Adversary said. "I am aware of it, but that's another matter entirely. And," he said mildly, "You're the one who brought her up."

"Is there a point to all of this?"

"Of course," he said imperturbably. "Listen to her."

"I always do," I said.

"No. You're not. Listen to what she's telling you."

After a few more seconds, when he didn't say anything else, I said, "Are you done?"

"I'm done," he said. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

He snapped his fingers, and I woke up. I didn't scream, but my pulse was racing like I'd just sprinted three miles.

I looked at the clock. 4:46 AM.

Lilly was right? I didn't need to take care of her?

Well, hell. Time to see what was on late-night TV in Sunnydale, because there was no way I was getting back to sleep now.

X X X X X

And I didn't. And late-night TV, Sunnydale style? Infomercials and sitcom reruns. So I watched a couple of episodes of MASH, because my only other choice was Three's Company, and I think you'll understand that I was kind of off that for a while.

Eventually, it rolled around to wakeup time. I took Backup for a nice, long walk; took a nice, long bath, had an extra-strong coffee from The Espresso Pump, and was still one of the first people to walk into Sunnydale High.

So, I wandered over to the school newspaper offices – Duncan trusted me with a key – and, before the final edition went to press later in the morning, proofread the final layout.

Found seven mistakes, left Duncan a note letting him know what I'd changed, and headed back out into the halls.

Where I promptly ran into Logan Echolls. He made a production of tapping his watch and said, "You're late, Mars."

"In what universe? We've still got fifteen minutes before I even have to be in class."

"For the lesson," he said irritably. "About seventeen hours late."

Well, poop.

That had completely slipped my mind, given what I was caught up in at the time. I'd make the same choice again, no matter how many times you offered it, but I should have taken a couple of minutes to clue Sheila and Logan in to what was going on.

I needed to apologize, first to Logan, and then to Sheila.

"You're right, Logan," I said. "I'm sorry. I was caught up in something else and completely forgot."

"What?" he said. "Another case? Someone lose their lunch money? Maybe misplace a pencil or two?"

Okay, he was entitled to be irritated, but still. "Actually, no. I was looking up information on a man named Ted Buchanan."

He stiffened. "The one who made papers from here to New York? The serial killer? That one?"

"It's not like there were two of them," I said.

"What the hell were you doing that for?"

"Because a client asked me to," I said. I wasn't going to say who without permission. But – "And it turned into a case that was beyond my capabilities."

"So you called in the Sunnydale Police Department?"

I sighed, gestured for him to step closer – "We don't have that kind of relationship, Mars," he murmured, but did as he was told; then I said, quietly, "Serial killer? On Lamb's radar. But no. It wasn't that kind of case."

"Ah. The mysterious Slayer."

"Yup. And no, I'm still not going to tell you who she is."

"Wasn't going to ask," he said unconvincingly. "So. What was he?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said.

"Try me. I think I know enough by this point not to be surprised."

"Robot," I said quietly.

He smirked and said, "Okay, that surprised me. When did robots become part of the equation?"

"Beats the hell out of me," I said. "Seems like it's the wrong genre, somehow. You know?"

"Indeed," he said. "We're in a western, and a dinosaur just rounded the mesa ahead."

"What can I say?" I said. "This is the real world. It transcends genre." Quietly, though, the Buffyverse had quite a bit from the sci-fi corner of things: Ted, Warren and his robots and his other inventions, the alien who'd stalked Joyce, the Initiative's taser rifles, and hell, the Initiative itself. It didn't exactly advertise the fact, but it was definitely there.

"Something to remember. But if we reach musical, I'm leaving town."

Flashforwarding to Sweet and OMWF, I said, "Me too." I'm not a bad singer. But I'm not going to stick around being forced to reveal my secrets.

Assuming I'm still around, then, of course.

"So, good enough excuse?" I said.

He sighed exaggeratedly and said, "I suppose so. And Rae was nice enough to answer questions, though I'm sure your tour would have been better."

"Flattery?" I wasn't sure I got where Logan was going, here. Rae knew that store better than anyone, up to and including Pete. I said as much to Logan

"You know me better than that, Mars," he said. "She knew more; yours, as always, would have been more interesting. And on that note? Homeroom isn't that far off."

"Yes, you don't want to miss your grand entrance three seconds before the bell rings," I said. "Glad you're not mortally offended."

"I think we're past that by now," he said seriously.

"Good to know," I said.

He smiled, nodded, and walked off.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear Spike saying, "You're not friends. You'll never be friends." Why I was hearing this now, I had no clue.

My rapprochement with Sheila was briefer but more painful. I apologized profusely.

"Look. I know neither one of us is cute and fuzzy," I said. "But still. I really don't want to hurt your feelings. And I'm one of the few people who know you actually have them."

"Yeah. 'sokay, Veronica. Really."

"Really?" I said.

She dropped every trace of attitude she could and said, "Yes. Really."

"Good."

Then she hit me in the arm again, hard, and we moved on. Not one for hugs, our Sheila; she's as cuddly as a vampire porcupine.

"Got a new spell to show you."

It was witchfire, reversed: A little ball of darkness. She could only expand it to about five feet or so, but still, pretty cool. I told her as much.

"Damn right," was her response.

X X X X X

So. I made my way through the rest of my Monday without being punched in the arm or questioned by the police – always a plus in my book. The Scooby gang, plus me, all met in the library after the day was over so we could make sure everyone knew the full story of Ted and his end, and why yes, it was a mortal lock we'd never see him again.

Still, homework and paperwork at Dad's office (I opened mail and returned calls until well past dark) kept me busy until around 7:30. (Yes; I'd been home already to feed and walk Backup; I just hadn't been able to stay there long.

And that's when Dad called.

"Guess where I am," he said.

"The Baseball Hall of Fame!"

"Try a little closer to home, sweetie."

"The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?"

"Closer . . ."

"The Fly Fishing Hall of Fame?"

"Nope! Give up?"

I sighed and said, "I guess I have to."

"Your old man is standing in the editorial room of the Los Angeles Times."

"What?" That was a shock. In the original run-through he'd used Neptune's daily paper, not the San Diego Union-Tribune.

But then, this was Sunnydale, not Neptune, and the local paper here was both corrupt and about a step above the Weekly World News in terms of credibility. The LA Times, on the other hand.

I added, "I told you, Dad, I cancelled the subscription." Had to keep this light.

"Nothing to do with that." Oh, he was going to make me jump every hurdle on this one, I could tell.

"Dad –"

"Okay, sweetie," he said. "You suck all the joy out of my life, you know that?"

"That's what daughters do. Now spill."

"I have the witness."

"Abel Koontz's hooker friend?"

"The one and only. The story's going in tomorrow!"

"And then?" I asked.

"And then," Dad said.

And then, we can take care of Aaron Echolls the way . . .

Take care.

Take care of herself.

Oh, _shit_.


	60. When She Was Mad

TAuthor's Note: I quote from VM what I think is the best-delivered line Kristen Bell has ever uttered. It comes towards the end.

I don't want to spell out why Veronica said, "Oh, shit," at the end of the last chapter, not yet anyway. But I don't want to overly confuse you. Let me know if you want me to spell it out sooner rather than later.

X X X X X

I congratulated Dad again -- somehow managing to make it non-perfunctory -- hung up, and cussed and swore until I ran out of breath.

(David Eddings called this process 'inventing new swearwords.' Not the greatest writer on the planet, but he had his moments.)

Lilly, in her dream, had told me to stop worrying about her; that she could take care of herself, and that I didn't have to anymore.

"For once, it isn't all about me."

And the Adversary had told me to listen to her, when I dreamed about him.

All of this less than a day before Dad called to say he'd found the witness who would permanently clear Abel Koontz and allow us to go after Aaron Echolls for murdering Lilly.

And if you think that's a coincidence, you're out of your mind.

Put it together yourselves, okay? I really, really don't want to think about this right now.

X X X X X

Tired, beyond irritable, I went to bed early, before Dad even made it home. I knew he'd want me up, but I couldn't take it at that point. Maybe by the time tomorrow morning rolls around, I'll be up to the conversation. And I'm not even getting into "looking up information on a serial killer," though there at least I can plausibly claim coincidence.

The Adversary didn't have the guts to show up in my dreams Monday night. Good. I might have done something monumentally stupid. As it was, all I dreamt about was forks and tree branches, and if you can get a meaning out of that, then bully for you.

When I woke up the next morning, Dad was in the kitchen, whistling a happy tune, and making breakfast. "Pancakes!" he said "Ready in ten minutes!"

Even Dad's pancakes couldn't put me in a better mood, though I did manage to get ready in ten minutes.

"Why didn't you stay up, sweetheart?" he asked. "I'd have thought you'd have been bouncing off the walls in excitement."

"I was," I said. "Superball Veronica, that's me. But I had a horrible night's sleep Sunday night. I felt your accomplishment deserved happy, alert Veronica, not falling asleep in her chair Veronica."

So why am I having trouble detecting excited Veronica?" he said.

"Oh, trust me, Dad. I'm thrilled. Abel Koontz is getting out, Aaron Echolls is in the sights, and, as an added bonus, Jake Kane is in trouble his own damn self." The Mayor wouldn't throw any weight around; he wanted less attention paid to Sunnydale, not more, and "corrupt software tycoon" pointed in a different direction from "corrupt local official." Jake was going to have to face the music.

(And the Kanes didn't use Wolfram & Hart. Counting my blessings on that one, believe me.)

"Your words say you're thrilled," Dad said, "But your eyes don't match."

Shit and shit again. Dad would need some story, and I couldn't tell him the real reason I was so upset; I can barely tell myself that.

Dad was sharp, here. He wouldn't buy nebulous stories about being in a bad mood, or even "bad dreams," though he was fully aware I had detailed dreams about Lilly that tended to upset me.

So I would have to go to the weekend.

"Remember that guy Buffy's mom was dating?" I asked. "The one I was looking up?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Did you see the stories about how our wonderful Sheriff's Department tracked down a serial killer living right here in our fair city?"

"Yes," Dad said sharply, not liking where I was going.

"It was the same person."

"I'd already guessed that," he said sharply. Okay, this was somewhat angry Dad. I needed to make him somewhat sympathetic Dad.

"I had no idea," I said. "Really. My investigations had turned up nothing more than four previous marriages and a house that didn't look particularly well-kept, and though I didn't like the man when I met him –"

"You met him? Dad said.

"Miniature golf on Saturday. Buffy wanted me to get a closer look at him. He seemed to have a sharp temper and an absolutist version of morality, but I went from there to 'creep,' not 'serial killer.""

"You had no idea?"

"None," I lied, I hoped convincingly. "It's a sharp jump from short-tempered multiply married moralist to homicidal lunatic. It's not a jump I made. If I'd found anything leading me remotely in that direction, I would have pulled out and called you. Murders are outside my purview."

"Damn right they are," Dad said. "Is that why you had such a hard time sleeping?"

"It was like that crazy woman a couple of weeks ago," I said. "I was looking directly into the face of a psychopath. This time I only found out afterwards, but still, it was scary to think about."

"I can understand that," he said, coming over and hugging me. "Are you okay now?"

"More or less," I lied, "Though I'm going to be extra careful when I do investigations like that from now on."

He sighed. "I suppose if I told you not to you'd ignore me."

"Probably," I said.

He shook his head and went back to eating a pancake. "What is it about this town? Two psychopaths, a gang invading the school –"

"This didn't happen when you were sheriff," I said. Remember, I did the research. Keith Mars. Sheriff, did a good job reducing the crime rate. Not as good as Buffy, but for a normal human? Pretty damned good. "I'm sure that's it. You couldn't have known about Ted Buchanan because you weren't even a deputy here the last time he killed someone."

"Maybe," he said. The Adversary was definitely messing with Keith Mars' head; I was sure about it now. Dad was too good a detective not to figure out what was going on in Sunnydale when he was thinking clearly. "So," he said after a brief silence, "You're still excited?"

I forced a smile. "Oh, yeah. You are the man, the man and a half."

"You helped," he said.

"Damn right I did," I said. "But I'm not the man. That would be you."

I'd convinced him. He grinned and said, "Yeah, I am." Then he said, "Now comes the hard part."

"The hard part?" I said. "You already overcame a conspiracy by one of the richest men on the planet and his ubercompetent henchman to cover up who killed Lilly, all by your lonesome. Taking down a world-famous movie actor?" I snapped my fingers. "Piece o'cake."

"Let's hope you're right, sweetie," he said.

"I am," I said, and hoped like hell I was right.

We'd see if Dad could pull it off.

God and the Adversary knew I wouldn't be involved.

X X X X X

I wanted to growl my way through the rest of the day, but I really, really couldn't, no matter how foul my mood was.

My Dad had just proven that he was right, and that the Sunnydale Sheriff's Department and Jake Kane were wrong; worse, they were criminal.

"Proud, manhunter?" Sheila asked.

"To the point of bursting," I said. "I would keep a spare spell ready in case you need to clean up later."

"Plan on bragging all day?"

"Oh, yeah." It was torture, feigning the excitement, but I had to. There was no one I could talk to about this, nowhere I could turn to vent my anger.

Most of my days in Sunnydale involved acting, going through the motions, to some degree or other. I can safely say that this was one of the worst.

"'scool," Sheila said. "Good for your Dad. Town was dumb to get rid of him."

"Thanks," I said.

I was approached by a dozen different students and teachers, and forced myself into "excited, proud, nay smug" Veronica mode for every one of them.

I also managed to dodge Xander. That conversation, with him champing at the bit to go after Aaron? Not now. Couldn't handle it now.

There were only two people who weren't happy with me, the first of whom I was glad to see.

I was finishing describing my Dad's amazing accomplishments (and no matter how hard you try to find sarcasm in that line, there is none, because that's the way I really feel) to yet another random Sunnydale High denizen when everyone suddenly went quiet and tried to hurry away.

I turned around and found myself face to face with Principal Snyder. And apparently, I was his target du jour, because he let everyone else scurry off. Not that I blamed them. I was one of the few people at this school he couldn't intimidate, and wanted to.

"I suppose you're pretty proud of yourself today," he sneered.

"You got that right," I said. "Even prouder of my Dad."

"Well, it stops now."

"Really?" I asked. "And why would you want me to stop being proud of my father for exposing a frame-up?"

"Because it's affecting the orderly running of this school," he said.

"Really?" I said. "I hadn't noticed any cheering mobs. Or angry mobs with pitchforks and torches, for that matter. Just people walking down the hallways, talking."

"Listen, Mars," he said. "Jake Kane was a great benefactor to this school. And your father has jeopardized that."

This was what I needed right now. "So you would have preferred seeing an innocent man die?" I asked angrily.

"Watch your tone," he said. "And Abel Koontz wasn't so innocent. He was a worthless piece of garbage. The world would have been better off without him anyway."

"There's a difference between 'not a good person' and 'the world is better off without,' though I can see why you'd have trouble telling the difference."

"There's that tone again," he said.

"What tone?" I asked angrily. "What tone would that be?"

"Disrespect."

"I'm giving you all the respect you deserve. You're a petty authoritarian. Nothing more. A two-bit tyrant with delusions of importance. You're a high school principal, Mr. Snyder. You'll never be anything other than a high school principal. I have no more respect for you than I do for dead fish. This is nothing to do with the orderly running of the school. Maybe, maybe, you're upset about the funding, but unless you think Celeste Kane's going to stop giving money while her husband's locked the hell up in jail where he belongs, you can't possibly think the money flow's going to give out anytime soon."

He opened his mouth, but I kept going.

"So, no. You're not concerned with the orderly running of this school. At least, not right this second. I wasn't being disruptive, I wasn't plotting mischief, and I wasn't spewing obscenities. So the only reason you came to me – pretty much the only reason you do anything – is because you wanted to jerk me around. Which I don't think is in the job description of high school principal anywhere, but fits petty dictator very nicely. So go. Go do your job. And leave me alone."

By this time, everyone who'd scurried off had returned, although, impressively, they were all watching while not watching. The only people I saw staring directly into the trainwreck were Logan Echolls, Duncan Kane, and Cordelia Chase. Eventually, Snyder sputtered out, "Okay, Mars. Detention –"

"Oh, go ahead," I said. "Give me detention. I dare you."

I'd say I didn't know what had gotten into me that day, but I knew damn well. I couldn't take out my anger on the dictator I wanted to, so I settled for taking it out on the dictator at hand. Yes, he could give me detention, even expel me, but at this point I honestly didn't care, and yes, I probably should have.

"Don't tell me what to do, Mars," he said, snorting. "Just get to class."

Then he turned around and walked away.

I turned to one of the students I'd been talking to before Snyder had so rudely interrupted and said, "So. Where were we?"

"Um—"

Right then, Snyder turned a corner and walked down another hall, and I heard the loudest burst of applause I'd ever heard in my life.

Which would have been nicer if I'd been telling off Snyder for any purpose other than the one I'd been telling him off for.

Still, some of the steam had been blown off, at least, so my smile and subsequent laugh weren't entirely faked.

Snyder poked his head back around the corner and said, "All of you. Get to class. Now!"

And we got.

X X X X X

Remember, there was a decent-sized crowd watching me tell off Principal Snyder. And a lot of applause and cheering.

Two people weren't applauding.

One was Logan, who I'm fairly sure wasn't applauding because he was standing next to the other person who wasn't:

Duncan.

One of my periods on Tuesday was set aside for working on the school paper, which went to press Monday morning and was distributed Monday afternoons.

So, Tuesdays was the start of a brand new cycle for the newspaper, so there was always a meeting on story ideas, columns, etc, and even though I pretty much only did occasional photography and proofreading I was as much a staff member as anyone else there.

Duncan barely looked at me the whole time, though he was professional enough otherwise. After the meeting, Duncan asked me to stay behind for a bit.

Once the room was clear, I said, "So, I take it this isn't about a picture you need taken?"

"You know damn well it isn't," he said. "Veronica -- why?"

"Why what?" I knew where he was going but I was in no mood to let him be vague about it. The round of applause aside, grumpy Veronica was still very much in charge, even if I was less cranky than I was when I started the day.

"Why did you have to bring my father into it?"

"First off, give credit where it's due: Keith Mars, not me. I only did a little bit."

"I really don't think that's the important part!"

"Duncan," I said patiently, "Your father helped get my father fired, concealed evidence in the murder of his own daughter, and paid another man to take the fall, and all the time the real killer's still been loose. I don't have a hell of a lot of sympathy for him. You want to blame someone? Blame him. My father was just doing his job."

"So you think one of us killed Lilly," he said.

"No. Me never, Dad not anymore. So think about this, Duncan: Who did think you killed your sister?" No answer. "Well?"

"My parents," he said reluctantly.

"So go yell at them. Because me? Not so much interested in being a target. It sucks to hear it, I know, but your father was the bad guy here. I know you love him; you have to. But it's his own damn fault."

"He could have left him out of it!"

"No, he couldn't," I said. "You could have told him to stop; to let my Dad do his job. Did you even try to stop him? Did you? Or did you do what you always do?"

"What do I always do?" He demanded.

I'd said it before, in the original timeline, but it worked here as well. "You. Stand. Idly. By."

"Veronica --"

"No," I said. "We're done. Let me know when you're ready to apologize."

I turned and left.

I managed to finish out the day without tearing anyone else's head off, called Dad and told him I'd be a bit late getting to the office, and drove around trying to clear my head.

I couldn't do what I wanted to do next. Dad would have to handle it himself.

So I had to find something else to do, or I'd go crazy.

Bad Eggs was around a month away; I still couldn't think of a way to prove Warren had been the one who raped me; and I wasn't fool enough to try to find Spike and Drusilla.

That pretty much left me with only one option.

I was supposed to improve the future.

And taking out Rack would do that.


	61. Racked

Author's Note: No, this isn't going to go as smoothly as Veronica hopes. Is it going to work?  
That's for me to know, and you to offer me bribes to find out.

X X X X X

Of course, I wasn't fool enough to simply drive around until I located someone willing to take me to Rack's waiting room, charge in, and start shooting; in the first place, I didn't own a gun, and, despite my opinions on how well they'd work against vampires, there's no guarantee they'd work on a prepared warlock like Rack, whether he's human or simply faking it.

And, anyway, violence, even in the mood I'm in? Not my style. Give me Aaron Echolls, or Warren Mears, and maybe I'd kick them in the groin a few times, but beyond that, not really.

Still, this was going to require some thought. This would be the first time I was attempting to prevent something where I was attempting to fix something that wasn't broken yet, and wasn't about to break, either. Rack was about four years in the future, and not an immediate danger to Willow.

He might be to Sheila, though. I trusted her; I didn't trust him.

If I started making plans today, though, they'd be bad plans, because right now I was running mostly on anger, and angry Veronica? Good for smartass comments and taking out frustrations on impotent petty tyrants, not so much good for taking on powerful warlocks who are more powerful than any individual I could think of who's on my side right now.

So, for the moment, I headed to the office. When I got there, Dad was in his office, talking to someone I didn't recognize; seemed to be some kind of reporter, though. If things ran the way they did the first time around, the story would run its course in a few days and things would get back to normal, until someone found out who the real killer was.

The Sunnydale police? Not happy with Dad right now. He'd made them look like fools, not that this required anything more than pointing at them and going "See?" But this made them look like fools nationally.

Still, there wasn't much they could do about it, not if the Mayor wanted national attention off his town again. So Lamb had given a press conference this morning about how they were grateful to Keith Mars' tireless work (choke on those words, Donnie; choke on 'em) and how they would now reopen the case to find the person who'd really killed Lilly Kane.

This, of course, was the Sunnydale police as led by Don Lamb, of course; I'd say something about the blind leading the blind, but really, why insult the blind? In any event, I wasn't expecting a whole hell of a lot out of them.

So, while Dad was enjoying his day in the sun, I retreated to the desk and went through the day's mail.

And answered a lot of phone calls, from potential clients – I took down their information and told them Dad would get back to them – to other reporters, to a couple of marriage proposals, which I turned down on Dad's behalf. The routine calmed me down, to some extent, though there was no day Dad would be able to take on this many clients. Still, it was nice to be able to pick and choose every once in a while.

(To some extent meant just that. I'd pushed my rage at the circumstances to the back of my mind, but it was there. Still, at least it was now at the back of my mind rather than dominating the front, the way it had been.)

Dad was still on the phone with a reporter from, I think, the Associated Press when I knocked on the door and told him I was pretty much done with everything I could think of doing that day. He told me I could go, so I went.

I locked the door behind me as I left. This replacement door was strong enough to keep out any vampires, though probably not certain demons, so I was reasonably sure of his safety.

On the way, I headed to the magic shop. Rae was there, just closing up, but she happily let me in.

She was a bit less happy when I asked her what she knew about that magic pusher she'd been talking about.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because it seems like that's someone the Slayer should be taking care of. And, you know, as luck would have it, we have one right here in town."

"This would be Buffy, right?" she said. I allowed as it would. "I'm not sure she's up to it."

"She might be," I said. "I'll give her the facts – better yet, could you do it?"

"Me?" Rae asked dubiously.

"Secondhand is better than thirdhand," I said. "I only know about this guy because you warned us – and I think Amy Madison mentioned him."

"Yeah," she said, sighing. "His name's Rack. He looks human; I never met him, and I don't woman. I think Amy Madison has been in his wheelhouse for a while. What he does doesn't work as well on novice witches. He wouldn't be interested in Willow yet, no matter how powerful she has the potential to be. But Sheila? Just starting to figure out how powerful she might be? Yeah. He'd be interested."

"I think Sheila would tell him to bug off," I said.

"That's the right attitude," she said. "But attitude isn't quite everything. You know how dealers – actual drug dealers – sometimes get people to start on their product?"

"First one's free," I said.

"It's beyond cliché, but it's true," she said. "The problem is, Rack simply doesn't offer his magic for free. He gives it away, whether his target wants them or not."

"How often does that work?"

"About half the time. But that plus the people invited by friends plus the occasional walk-in are more than enough," Rae said. "For a pusher, he doesn't push – he doesn't want to tick people off and get too much attention."

"He doesn't want the Slayer to get involved," I said.

"That would be my guess," she said.

"How do you know so much about him?"

"My customers," she said sourly. "There's a lot of overlap, unfortunately. I try to steer them away, but there's not a lot I can do otherwise. I'm not like you and the slayer, Veronica; I'm not a hero."

My eyes widened. "I'm not a hero. Never pretended to be one. Not a shield nor a sword do I carry."

"Philip Marlowe was a hero too, Veronica," she said.

Me? A hero?

Ridiculous.

X X X X X

I convinced her to come by the school tomorrow night after class and brief the Scooby Gang; I would be there as well, and so would Sheila, because a lot of this was about her, even if she didn't know it at this point.

And, for once, pretty much nothing else happened in the interim, nothing that I haven't told you about, anyway. I got questioned by the police, a little more adulation from the other students, glares from Snyder, and nothing whatsoever from Duncan, who apparently wasn't quite ready to apologize yet.

(Logan, I should note, didn't seem to be of the same opinion, though we didn't actually talk. Still, he wasn't glaring at me and he wasn't turning away as though my very presence offended him; Duncan did that a couple of times on Wednesday. Okay, fine. Let him be that way for the moment. He couldn't believe his father was innocent; he wasn't that stupid. So if he wanted to wait from an undeserved apology from me, he would be waiting until the Hellmouth froze over.)

Still, the point here is that between my conversation with Rae and her briefing the Scoobies? Not a lot happened. Which is good, because it let me concentrate on how the hell we could defeat Rack, and bad, because the reason I was so pissed on Tuesday hadn't particularly faded by Wednesday afternoon, though I did mange to avoid biting anyone's head off on Wednesday.

When everyone, including Cordelia, Rae, and to my mild surprise, Ms. Calendar (I had no objection to her being there, of course; the more the merrier), had shown up. Giles turned to me and said, "Miss Mars? The floor is yours."

"But please don't charge us rent for using it," Xander said. "'cause I don't have the money and I can't fly."

I chuckled at that, and then said, "So, I suppose you're all wondering why I brought you here today . . . "

"Damn skippy," Cordelia said.

"Might want to avoid saying that in this town," Ms, Calendar said, grinning. "Unless you've got something against Skippy, that is."

I cut off Cordelia's return retort by saying, "Last week I learned about someone who might fall under Buffy's mandate as Slayer: A warlock named Rack who apparently is exploiting young witches around here --"

"Around the world," Rae said. "Some teleport in just to see him. But most of his clientele are from pretty close by."

"Well, see," I said, 'That's why I brought you here. Rae knows more about this guy than I do. Rae?"

And Rae, with some prompting, explained everything she knew about Rack.

"I'm surprised you've never heard of this guy, Giles," Buffy said once Rae as done.

"Well, he is human," Giles said. "We tend to keep track only of the potential worldbeaters, in that category, and it sounds like this Rack is content simply making money and corrupting spellcasters. Which doesn't mean the Council has no information on him at all, just that I cannot recollect ever seeing it. I could check, if you like."

"Yeah. Do that," Buffy said.

Ms. Calendar laughed, but there was no humor in it. "For once I'm a half point up on you, Rupert," she said. "I have heard of this bastard, though I didn't know his name -- or that he was in Sunnydale."

"How --?" Giles asked.

Another bitter laugh. "Join the internet age. I know a wide variety of pagans and Wiccans online, from wannabes to people with real power. He's been a topic of discussion on a few of them. We've even had a couple of his addicts come try to recruit, but they're usually kicked off in short order. I'm definitely going to go these people and A, warn them, and B, find out whatever I can about him that Rae hasn't already told us."

"She just spent twenty-minutes detailing the bozo." Cordelia said. "What else do we need to know?"

"Gee, Cordy," Xander said. "What he looks like might be helpful. So far all we've got is 'man," which covers everyone from Gary Coleman to Wilt Chamberlain."

"Yeah, well, at least no one's ever going to think it's you."

"Got that righ -- hey!"

"Thank you, Mr. Giles, Ms. Calendar," I said firmly, cutting off Xander-Cordelia XXXVIII, This Time, It's Meaningless. "So you all agree we need to do something about this guy?"

'sclear to me, manhunter," Sheila said. "Just stopped drinking. Don't want something else takin' its place."

"Thanks," I said.

"Anyone have a problem?" Buffy asked. No one did. "Good. Thanks, Veronica. I told you we'd make you a Scooby yet."

"Nope," I said. "Confronting the bad guys? I prefer using words to fists, or magic. And something tells me this bozo's going to be hard to take down just by talking to him."

"Whatever we do," Giles said, "We should not act in haste. We should find out as much as we can about this man before we begin to formulate a plan."

"What plan?" Buffy asked. "We find him, we stop him." She snapped her fingers.

"It might not be that easy, Buffy," Willow said. "He's human. You can't Slay a human."

"That part of the Slayer rulebook?" Sheila asked.

"As a matter of fact, it is," Giles said.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "And actually, I agree with this part. I'm not going to kill a person who's not actually trying to kill me -- and even then I'd rather avoid it."

Sheila nodded. "Fair enough. I'm not a Slayer, though."

"You'd kill him?" Buffy asked.

"If someone has to, yeah. What's the alternative? Smack him a few times and tell him he's being a bad boy? 'snot like any jail's going to take him. You have a problem with that?"

Before the situation could escalate -- though Sheila wasn't asking the question hostilely, it could be hard for the uninitiated to tell the difference sometimes -- Giles said, "Talk of killing is premature. The man might prove amenable to reason --"

"I highly doubt that, Mr. Giles," Rae said. Ms. Calendar echoed that.

Giles nodded and continued, "Or, failing that, we may be able to restrict his activities short of ending his life. First we need to know as much about him as possible -- and his location."

Rae was visibly thinking, ending with, "No. I didn't tell you, did I? His home base moves. I don't know how often, or how long it takes. So even if we find his location tonight, it'll be somewhere else tomorrow."

"Damn," Xander said. "The man has his own TARDIS."

"I realize I said I'd only help you guys in the event of an apocalypse," I said. "But at least part of this is detective work. Plus," I looked over at Sheila, "It's also somewhat personal. I don't like it when people target my friends."

"How were you planning to help?" Ms. Calendar asked.

"Buffy Slays; you and Mr. Giles research; I find."

"And how were you planning to do that?" Buffy asked.

"Let me worry about that," I said.

X X X X X

They let me get away with it. Why, I had no idea. Because I was worried. While I was the one person in Sunnydale who couldn't possibly be affected by anything any of Rack's ticked-off clientele might do, I was the one person least likely to be able to find it simply by wandering around. Hell, Xander would have had a better chance than I would.

Still, I knew this going in, so when I went out that evening to see if I could track down -- pretty much just for the practice -- the thought of doing it that way never even entered my mind.

I'd been thinking about maybe following Amy Madison, but she scuttled that idea by simply heading straight to the Bronze and staying there. Sheila could have, and would have, but hell, to the power of no, would I let that happen.

Who could find Rack's lair?

If I remembered it right, witches and other spellcasters, and magical beings. Buffy's fairly sure Spike can help, but Clem's the one who actually finds it. Buffy herself? No go.

So all I had to do was whistle up a friendly demon.

Fortunately, I knew more or less where to find one.

And as it turned out, exactly where.

Angel hadn't even left his apartment yet.

I'd say luck was running my way, but you know where that leads.


	62. Once More, Without Feeling

Author's Note: I know exactly where I'm going at the end of this particular storyline, most of how to get there, and the next one, as well.

All is not necessarily going to end well, in this particular storyline.

X X X X X

Once I explained why I needed his help, Angel was willing to do so. "This is dangerous, you know." Not being patronizing; just making sure I knew. There's a line there, and Angel was good enough not to cross it.

"I know," I said. "My job is to figure out how to find this place. My choice was follow a witch, beat up a witch and make her tell me -- and that wasn't going to happen -- or ask another magical creature. Once I know whether you can find the place, I can hand it over to you and stand back and watch the fireworks."

He nodded his head. "That seems safe enough."

"Good to know," I said. "I know he could set up shot anywhere but I think it'd be smarter for him not to do it anywhere public -- just in case that one Sunnydale resident who knows what's what wanders by and wonders what the people are doing disappearing into thin air."

"Alleys and graveyards it is," he said.

So we drove around for about an hour, keeping an eye out for any obvious signs, and finding nothing.

At some point, after we passed by another alley where Rack wasn't, I looked at my watch and said, "Well, shit."

"Shit?" Angel asked.

"Yeah. It's more or less time that I have to go home. Could you --?"

"Keep looking?" he said, finishing the question for me. "Sure."

"Don't put yourself out doing it, though," I said as he started to step out of the car. "I mean, if takes you more than another hour or so, you might as well stop and we'll try to find some other way." I didn't think it had taken Clem this long in the original timeline; either he was luckier or I was remembering it wrong. "We'll move on to Plan B."

Angel nodded. "Makes sense."

"And you're going to keep on looking anyway," I said, not making it a question.

"Yes," he said.

"Don't go charging after him by yourself," I said.

He said, "I wasn't planning on it. If I see someone actually in danger, all bets are off. But otherwise, I'll just let you know what I find."

"Good. Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said, and shut the door.

I headed home, talked to Dad – who was just ending yet another interview – played with Backup for five minutes, and eventually went to bed.

X X X X X

No dreams. No relevant dreams, anyway, unless you count dreams of pure rage, where I ended up kicking the hell out of someone nameless.

I'm not violent. Never have been. But right now, no matter that my public persona was still more or less "bright and clever Veronica," inside a large part of me still wanted to take the Adversary and beat him bloody. Angry Veronica was still very much in play, if being channeled heavily towards Rack, rather than my preferred target, who was unapproachable as unapproachable gets.

Just bear that in mind.

As I was walking down the halls at Sunnydale High Thursday morning, I heard Giles behind me saying, "Miss Mars. A word?"

I turned around and said, "Sure. What word would you like? I like billionaire, myself."

I could tell he was trying to refrain from rolling his eyes, but eventually he gave up trying, rolled them, and said, "It concerns your activities of last night. Angel left you a message, through me."

"Ah." I followed him back to the library.

Once we got through the double doors, he pulled an envelope from under his tweed jacket and handed it to me. My name was on the outside, along with a scrawled "Giles – please give this to Veronica."

It was still sealed. "As you might have guessed, this has something to do with me trying to find a way to locate Rack."

"Where did Angel come in?"

"Well, I remembered that Rae said that she'd heard only magical creatures could find Rack's lair – which meant I could be standing right on top of the place and I wouldn't notice -- and Angel was easier to locate than Buffy. Sheila probably would have done it, but I wasn't going to risk her."

"Ah," Giles said.

I opened the envelope and read the message Angel had left.

Short version: He'd found Rack and mentioned a few details.

Long version: He'd actually found Rack's TARDIS in a vacant lot well away from downtown, in an industrial park. He'd watched for maybe an hour or so, seeing people go in and out – four came in, five left, all staggering, giggling, and happy. One began to sparkle as though he were made of fireworks, and no one bothered to ask him to tone it down.

There were quite a few cars in the area, as well.

At the end, he mentioned two other vampires who'd wandered by.

"Thinking about going after the easy pickings?" one asked.

"Yeah," Angel said.

"Don't bother. Sucks, man. All that meat, looks so easy. But the guy in there? Keeps an eye on his customers."

The other one said, "We've had no luck tonight and we're going home and we still wouldn't touch them."

"Customers? And why not?" Angel asked.

"Yeah. Kind of like a drug dealer. Anyway, he doesn't want them getting killed. Vampires get too close, he knows and deals with 'em. You heard of Manny? Big Manny? Burned him from the inside out."

"Good to know," Angel said, and killed the two vampires, and that's pretty much where he ended the impromptu report.

I growled in outrage.

"Miss Mars?" Giles asked.

"Angel is simultaneously a big help and a complete idiot," I said. Well, he wasn't a private detective yet. But still, he should have known better.

I handed Giles the letter and let him read it.

The stuff at the beginning? Something of a help. Even if his clientele is more careful the more crowded the neighborhood around them gets, people walking unmolested down a dark alley in Sunnydale? A definite sign something's going on. And finding out that vampires can't get too close without setting off alarms? Also good, and good business sense for Rack to keep his customers alive. Dead people are a lot less likely to pay you, even in Sunnydale.

But what Angel shouldn't have done was kill the two vampires. Not until he'd found out what else they might know. Giles in his books, Ms. Calendar online, all helpful, but none of it as helpful as finding out directly from someone in the know.

And while I, and Buffy and Angel I assume, would be perfectly willing to question some of the witches – and I wish Angel had paid more attention to who the customers were, but that, he hadn't been asked, so I wasn't going to hold it against him – the witches were the kind of informants that, you know, we had to keep alive. And since here in season 2 I don't think the Scooby Gang was up for either prolonged kidnapping or memory spells, that meant that Rack would hear about what we were up to as soon as the witch we'd questioned could run there and tell him.

That was a problem we didn't have with vampires. No, those two didn't know what was inside – I did, of course, but couldn't tell anyone – but they sure as hell knew more than any of us had, except maybe Rae and Ms. Calendar. Maybe we'd be lucky and Rack was common knowledge throughout the local vampire populace, but it wasn't something I was going to bet the mortgage on.

"Ah," Giles said. "You believe Angel should have let those two vampires go."

"Yes. I do."

Giles said, "I understand your reasoning. Still, what if they had gone on to kill other people last night? Is that a trade you would have been willing to make?"

"If you could read the future and guarantee me that Angel saved lives? No. But if every vampire in Sunnydale killed someone every night, we'd run out of people by January. That's not a guarantee. Not even close. Besides, they had no reason to lie to Angel when they said they were done for the night."

"You can see why he felt he couldn't take the risk," Giles said.

"I do," I said. "But there were ways around that didn't involve killing two good sources."

I stood up; Giles moved to hand me the letter, and I waved him off. "You can use it more than I can," I said. "Did your research turn up anything?"

"Less than yours did," he said. "There is nothing in any of the books I have with me. I've put in a call to the headquarters of the Watchers' Council – and another to the head of a witches' coven I know -- to see if perhaps someone there knows more than I do on the man."

"That would seem to indicate that he's probably human – the longer someone's around, the more likely one of you guys would have been to run into him before."

"True, but hardly a guarantee," Giles said. "I believe we should all meet after school. Would you mind spreading the word?"

"Consider it spread," I said, and left.

X X X X X

Got a regular case; finding out who was sending a sophomore love notes. Sounded like Duncan's style, but this girl wasn't his type – not unless he harbored a secret lust for uber-gothy goth chicks, that was. (Hint: No.)

Speaking of: It seemed as though Duncan was going to carry this grudge for a while yet. He wasn't being self-destructively immature about it – he still asked me, through an intermediary, to come proofread for the paper that weekend.

That intermediary was one Logan Echolls. I hadn't had much of a chance to talk to him since the news break, since he'd usually been with Duncan, and after school, he'd been over there helping him cope in the inimitable Echolls style, which usually meant massive amounts of video games mixed with the occasional round of poker. (Not kitten poker, thankfully. Sunnydale hadn't changed things that much.)

"So," I asked. "Where's your Siamese twin?"

"Didn't you hear, Mars? The separation surgery was a success."

I made a production of staring at his forehead, eventually saying, "You mean that's not a lobotomy scar?"

"The opposite, actually," he said. "They were packing in as much brains as they could."

"Hmmm. And with all that rock in the way, too. I'm impressed." Before the banter could continue – shame, because I was enjoying it – I got serious and said, "Listen. We haven't talked a whole lot since my Dad went and upset the Kane applecart."

He shrugged. "If I had something to say to you, I would," he said. "Whether your Dad was right when he was Sheriff, he's certainly right now. Jake Kane paid someone to die to protect his son. Noble in a twisted sense of the word, but it does violate the laws of the great State of California. He took a chance and he got nailed for it. I have no sympathy for him." Then a flash of anger emerged. "Besides, that means Lilly's killer has had nearly a year and half to get him or herself good and lost because of that. Attaboy, Jakey!"

"So, not upset?"

"Not at you, for this," he said. "Do you care, Mars?" The tone was half-needling.

"A little," I said. "Enough that I asked."

He smiled, and for once it was genuine. "You always surprise me, Veronica. I was sure you were going to come out with something smartassed there."

"Naah. Fresh out of sarcasm. Delivery truck's due in the morning, though."

The smirk returned. "Put me in for a double order, then. Things are getting entirely too touchy-feely around here."

"You noticed that too, huh?" I said. "Okay, a double order it is. Tell Duncan I'll be in to proofread when he has me scheduled. Also tell him that this is the last time I take instructions through a go-between and that if he has anything else to day to me, he can say it to my face."

"I'm not getting in the middle of this one."

"Kind of what a go-between is, by definition. Now get."

"Aye aye." He gave me a mock salute, and left.

X X X X X

The afternoon's conference -- sans Rae, who was (of course) at the store, was noticeably missing one Cordelia Chase and Xander Harris for the first ten minutes or so.

It was almost businesslike. First Giles revealed that he'd found nothing in the books about Rack, but then told us that his contact in an English coven had said that the man was well known and loathed by a large number of witches, and that he was persona non grata to them; they'd spent a lot of time curing his victims. To the best of their knowledge, he was human, at least by birth. They didn't know his real name.

"My best line of research was in what enabled him to either create or control a pocket dimension the way he does," Giles said. "Accessing it, yes. Causing the access point to move at will? That is uncommon. And possibly, we can find a way to break that control."

"That matches what I found," Ms. Calendar said, "Though a couple don't know if he's completely human any more. He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself magically. Physically, he's no great shakes, though."

I explained what Angel had found, as Cordelia and Xander stumbled in, bickering. "I'm not going to repeat myself," I said over an insult. "Sit down and hush and maybe somebody'll fill you in later."

"You think he should have left the vampires alive?" Buffy asked.

"Killing off leads is usually a bad idea, yes," I said. "Even if those leads are bloodsucking members of the undead. And Giles and I have already had the rest of this conversation, so let's just go with 'philosophical differences' and move on from there."

"You're willing to let people die?" Willow asked.

"Or not. No, I'm not. Guarantee me that those two vampires were going to kill someone between 2:00 AM and sunrise and I'm all for lopping their heads off. Not a whole lot of people roaming around Sunnydale at that time except the people at Rack's, and they were going home anyway. I'd call that a calculated gamble."

"Well, we'll see tonight if you owe Angel an apology," Buffy said. "I'll go find a couple of other vampires and see what they know."

"Shouldn't Veronica be questioning them?" Cordelia said. "I mean, she is the expert, right?"

I wasn't planning on channeling my anger into near-suicide. "If you can arrange it so there's no chance the vamp breaks free? I'm game. In the middle of a cemetery with maybe a half dozen other vampires just waiting to jump us? Nuh-uh."

"Okay," Buffy said, "If I can arrange it?"

"I'll come," I said. I knew Buffy wasn't going to risk my life, or even seriously pretend to."

"It seems we have our plans for the evening," Giles said.

"You and Ms. Calendar going to keep researching?" Xander asked.

Ms. Calendar smirked and said, "Something like that."

At that point, all the teenagers in the room stood up, including me. "If you wanted us to leave," Buffy said, "You could have just said so."

It didn't gross me out the way it seemed to every other Sunnydale High student in the room, but I wasn't prurient enough to be interested in what happened next, either.

We all went our separate ways.

X X X X X

I was doing my homework at the desk at Dad's office an hour or so later, when I nearly had a heart attack.

Aaron Echolls walked in.

He grinned and said, "Hi, Veronica. Your dad in?"

Tight control, Veronica. Tight.

"Yes," I said. "What did you want to see him about?"

"I have a case for him," he said.

"Hold on." I buzzed Dad's office and said, "Dad? Aaron Echolls is here to see you."

Dad was outside in the waiting room five seconds later. "Aaron," Dad said. "What can I do for you?" From the expression on Dad's face, you'd think he no more thought Aaron Echolls was a murderer than anyone else in the town except for me and Xander Harris.

"Yeah, Keith," he said. "I've been getting death threats. Can we talk in your office?"

"Sure," Dad said. "Go right in. I'll be there in a second."

As Aaron Echolls walked into my father's office, Dad shut the door, then came over and said, "You know why I'm doing this, right?" very quietly.

"We can't make him suspicious," I said.

"More than that. With access, maybe I can find proof."

"I trust you," I said. "Go. Before he gets suspicious."

As Dad went into his office, I collapsed in my chair.

I'd thought only two of my own personal "storylines" had come with me.

Apparently I'd been wrong.

Welcome, one and all, to my very own rerun of an Echolls Family Christmas.


	63. Where Are You?

Author's Note: to the VM-watchers: Does anyone remember how many Days An Echolls Family Christmas took from start to stab? I'd like to time this out correctly, if possible.

X X X X X

Dad would give me any details he thought I might need -- in the case of a possibly psychotic stalker, my contribution was going to be pretty much limited to research and paperwork -- but if this progressed in even a remotely similar fashion to the way it had originally, the stalker was a psychotic waitress, and her stabbing Aaron at the Christmas party was what led to Lynn Echolls' suicide.

I couldn't help Dad prove that Aaron Echolls killed Lilly; that was the way I was interpreting the messages from the Adversary and Lilly, anyway. (It wasn't an ironclad rule; hell, from the Adversary, this qualified as 'friendly advice."

But Dad could still investigate Aaron; and he was good. Smart enough to know what an opportunity this presented for that investigation.

And I would be damned if I let Lynn Echolls die again. So I could help Dad stop the stalker, at least, with a clear conscience.

I should have realized this was going to happen, anyway; at least, I should have expected the Christmas party itself. The stalker was helpfully supplied by the universe, the Adversary, or simply probability, given that Aaron Echolls was willing to sleep with anyone and anything female.

Still, I was going to have to be careful. My contributions here were going to have to be limited o finding the stalker and helping Dad. I don't think it qualified as "worrying about Lilly" if I ran across anything myself, but I would have to run across it honestly, not manipulate my way into running across it.

In the meantime, there was Rack.

I realized we weren't really at his level yet; but, per Ms. Calendar, he wasn't particularly good at offensive magic. (Still, at least if those two vampires could be believed, he'd burned a vampire up from the inside. Not sure how powerful a spell that was; for all I knew, the flame equivalent of witchfire could do that.)

From what I remembered from the show, he was dangerous, but not hair-trigger prone to violence; even when Warren burst in on him he was more inclined to conversation than simply throwing him out on the street.

I still didn't think he'd be amenable to sweet reason; who gives up money and power? But it might at least give us a pretext, and a reason not to make him suspicious by going in with guns blazing.

That assumed Giles didn't find some other way of dealing with him.

I knew I wasn't worrying over nothing. I might be worrying over something I couldn't control, but I wasn't worrying over nothing.

The door to Dad's office opened and Aaron Echolls stepped through it, seeming in a jovial mood. "I'll have my people send you everything you need, Keith," he said.

"Thank you, Aaron," Dad said, smiling. Laurence Olivier had nothing on Keith Mars. "I'll find whoever's stalking you."

"Thanks, Keith," he said. "I knew I could count on you." They shook hands. Aaron smiled at me on his way out. "See you around, Veronica." He thought he was being charming. Not flirtatious; even Aaron Echolls wasn't dumb enough to flirt with a teenaged girl in front of her father. But still, I found it about as charming as a pile of dirty laundry.

"You too, Mr. Echolls," I said as he left.

Dad carefully watched until Aaron had driven off – "regular guy" movie star drives himself, yeah, impressive if I wasn't sure that was part of his carefully calculated image – and then said, "That was one of the more unpleasant meetings I've ever had."

"I can't believe both of us got through that without telling him what we thought of him."

"I came close, believe me," he said. "Only the thought that this might let me drive the final nail into his coffin got me through it." He laughed bitterly. "And to think, I used to think he was a nice guy."

"So did I," I said. At least, I thought I had, though that was a timeline ago. "You took the job?"

"I took the job," he said. "Which means I'm going to do the job, and do it well. He has a stalker; we're going to try to stop her. I'm hoping in the course of my research to find something else to hold against him; something to match what we have in those two tapes."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Research," he said. "Nothing else. You've already run across way too many crazy people in person in this town, sweetheart."

"Any specific research? I already found Holly Takamura –"

"It's not going to be her," I said. "Aaron showed me copies of the letters. This is someone fairly local. Closer than LA, anyway. Stick to local women who might have a grudge against him. Besides you." He looked at me sternly. "This isn't you, is it?"

"Not funny," I said.

"I wasn't trying to be," he said.

"No. It's not me. I want Aaron to go to jail."

"Good to know."

X X X X X

I'd been lucky when I was tracking down Holly Takamura; she was one of Aaron's few conquests to have had their affair go even a little but public. I couldn't find anything local beyond rumors, which I still marked down. Certainly, the Sunnydale Press wouldn't have published anything against their most illustrious resident; they only reason they'd mentioned Jake Kane's probably obstruction charges was because the rest of the world was still watching.

I also spent a little bit of time tracking down gothy-goth's secret admirer – I'd marked it down as one of three people – and thinking more about Rack.

Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Maybe. But it was too late to spit the bite out now that I had the entire Scooby Gang working on it.

So, to push the metaphor, we had to work on making sure the answer with Rack was something we could all swallow.

I handed Dad what I'd found and went home.

I was doing some of my necessary homework – I wasn't going to rely on my memory for everything, though it was still a huge help – and eating a late dinner when Buffy called.

"You owe Angel an apology."

"Are you going to push this until I actually apologize to him?"

"Pretty much," Buffy said. "Anyway, I was doing an early patrol and ran across a couple of vampires; they knew all about Rack when I mentioned him. Hell, they went from trying to kill me to trying to run like hell."

"Guess they thought you were one of his clients, or something," I said.

"Yeah, that's pretty much how I figured it," Buffy said. "Anyway, I killed one and I've got the other one tied up with Angel keeping an eye on him. We're in the abandoned warehouse at Squire and 15th."

"So, it's interrogation time."

"Yup."

"I'll be down in a few," I said. I called Dad, let him know I'd be home in a couple of hours, and headed down to the warehouse. I didn't get out of the car until I saw Angel standing in the doorway.

He walked over as I got out of the car. "I just wanted to say," he said. "You don't need to apologize."

"You agree with me?"

"Not completely," he said. "But I understand you. They could have been two of only a handful. I'm certainly not offended that you think I was wrong."

"Thank you," I said. "You realize Buffy'll probably try to make me apologize anyway."

He half-grinned. "Probably."

We got inside and Buffy had a beaten but conscious and surly vampire in full game face tied to a support column. "I assume you've been checking to see if he's working on his ropes, right?"

The look on Buffy's face told me that no, this hadn't occurred to her, and she stepped forward as the bound vampire obviously kept sawing at his ropes with his fingernails.

He didn't come close. Buffy stepped forward and hit him in the head, then held him against the column while Angel gathered up some more scraps of rope and then set himself so he could watch the vampire from the rear in case he decided to get creative again.

I passed by Angel for a second, mouthing for him to follow my lead and that he was upset with me. It took a minute or so for him to catch on – lip-reading skills were not his specialty -- and then took Buffy well away from the vampire and told her the same thing, and then said, "You're angry at me."

"I am?"

"Think 'pissed because you've just been told something you didn't want to hear'."

She nodded.

Then I moved up to the vampire. No, I am not Jack Bauer, nor was meant to be. If all we needed was the ability to slap this guy around, Buffy and Angel would have been fine. I'm not sure we wanted to have Angel channel Angelus, not at this point, anyway. He would have been uncomfortable, Buffy would have been uncomfortable, and I wouldn't have felt too well myself.

So the slapping around would be kept to a minimum. Fine by me.

Still. I stood in front of the vampire and pulled out my holy water pistol, and was mildly surprised when his eyes widened a bit. Recognition? Fine. "So you know who I am?" No answer. "That was your cue to answer," I said.

Still nothing. Angel said, "Want me to hit him a few times?"

I glared at him. "If I wanted you to hit him, I would have said something."

"I was just asking," Angel said grumpily.

"Okay," I said, snapping my fingers at Buffy "Come over here and hold him still."

She did so, but made a production out of not being happy about it. Once the vampire was as immobile as he was going to get, I pressed the barrel of the water pistol against his neck and squeezed the trigger gently.

Yes, I knew what was going to happen. No, I don't like torture, even on vampires. No matter what repeated viewings of 24 might seem to indicate, all torture actually does is get the person being tortured to tell you anything you wanted to hear to avoid the pain.

The fear of torture, though? Might help. This was psychological, nothing more. I wanted him to think I would hurt him, and the only way to prove that was to hurt him, a little bit. Enough to be convinced I was serious. It was odd that the fear of torture got more reliable results than actual torture, but there you go.

And if you're wondering why I know this, or anything really, about interrogation: One part Dad, one part research, one part reasoning it out on my own. No, Keith Mars wouldn't condone torture or anything like it, but he did know the finer points of interrogation, both cop-legal and off the books, and sometimes even shared them with me.

The vampire yelled as the water trickled out. I held the trigger one more second, stood back, and told Buffy to let him go.

Buffy did so. There was a spot of his neck that was red, raw, and inflamed. "Stop screaming," I said. "If you get any attention, you'll be dead before anyone can help you."

He stopped yelling. Good. "That was the stick," I said. "Now for the carrot."

"Carrot?" Buffy said crankily behind me. "You didn't say we needed any carrots."

I rolled my eyed and looked conspiratorially at the vampire. "This is what happens when you work with idiots."

"I got it," the vampire growled, talking for the first time. "You don't get what you want, you burn me. You get what you want – what? I know damn well that's the Slayer behind you. She'll kill me the second you're done."

"No, she won't," I said.

"The hell I won't," Buffy said.

"If she doesn't. I will," Angel said.

"No," I said firmly. "You won't."

"And why not?" Buffy demanded in an annoyed tone.

"Because I said so."

Buffy threw up her hands and went over to lean against the far wall. Angel snorted. "Hold on a second." I told the vampire. "Have to talk to my underlings. Be right back."

I gestured for Buffy to follow me, and she did. Once we got far enough away that the vampire couldn't hear us, she raised an eyebrow and said, "Underlings?"

"Lackeys? Peons? I'm flexible," I said.

"Underlings will do," Buffy said wryly. "Look -- where are you going with this? And why do you want Angel and me to hate you?"

"Because I want him to believe me when I say you won't kill him once we let him go."

"We will."

"I know," I said as I started walking back, yelling, "No! You're not going to kill him if he tells us what we need to know."

"I'm a Slayer! That's what I do!"

"Not when I tell you not to," I said. "Now sit down. If he tries to escape again, then you can kill him. Got that?"

"Yeah, yeah."

I walked back over to the vampire, making sure to stay out of biting range. "So," I said. "What's your name?"

"Zeb," he said after about ten seconds.

"Hi, Zeb," I said. "Look. You know about this guy, Rack."

"Yeah," he said sullenly.

"Tell us everything you know about him."

"We can't touch his customers. If he does, he kills us."

"Yeah," I said. "We're already past that. Give us something else." Nothing. "Come on, Zeb. If you don't give me something else, you're dead. Spill."

"He makes it like his place shows up randomly. But it really don't," he said. "There're maybe eight different locations he actually uses."

I looked at Angel and then Buffy and said, 'I don't suppose either of you geniuses thought to bring something to write with or on?"

Angel said, "Didn't come here to write. Came here to hit." Quoting Hank Aaron. Unexpected. Maybe in the 1960's Angel was a baseball fan.

Also, he still sounded grumpy, but he flashed me a half-grin. He wasn't offended either. Good.

I rolled my eyes, walked out to my car and got a pen and paper, came back, and handed the pen to Buffy. "I assume you can write," I said.

"Sure can," Buffy said with obvious mock cheer. "F. U--"

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Just make sure you get these locations right."

Buffy muttered something under her breath; the vampire laughed, so I assume it was something insulting. Good. "Okay," I said to Zeb. "Let's have them."

He rattled off eight places, one of which was the abandoned lot in the industrial park Angel had found the previous night.

"Good," I said when he was done. "That's a good start."

"Start?"

Over the next 45 minutes I got as much out of him as we could -- from what spells he'd seen, to the clients, to what Rack looked like, to the names of anyone who'd know more.

When I was satisfied that he was done, I said, "Thanks, Zeb. I appreciate it."

"So you're going to let me go now?"

I said, "Are you out of your mind? Buffy, he's all yours."

Zeb was dust before he could even begin to rip through his bonds.

"We good?" I said.

"We good," Buffy replied. "And please, never join the bad guys."

"Remind me never to lie to you," I said.

I said, "Really, you guys can learn how --"

"Not how to question," Angel said. "I know that."

"That's one of those things I think we're better off not hearing about," Buffy said.

"I wasn't planning to go into details," Angel said. "Anyway, it doesn't take an expert to know how to tie someone up and pound them until they talk. But knowing what to ask? That's a different story."

"And convincing him that you were our superior?" Buffy said.

I appreciate the praise," I said, and I did. "Still, compared to my father? I'm an amateur. Trust me." And, if it seems like I was awash in self-confidence out there? Then I'm telling it wrong. Any second, Zeb could have used his common sense and figured out that the Slayer wasn't going to let a vampire go no matter what the hell I said. Thank whatever gods there are that most vampires aren't overburdened with common sense.

"Still, you got us info we didn't have before," Buffy said. "Now, I think, we take this to Giles."

I checked my watch. "You take it to Giles. I need to head home."

"Apocalypses don't actually have curfews," Buffy said.

"It'd be a lot more convenient if they did," I said. "See you tomorrow."

With any luck, tomorrow we'd actually be able to move against Rack.

Or possibly Aaron.

Both at once?

That would be my luck, wouldn't it?


	64. The Rack

AAuthor's Note: Thanks to Snag, Ponder, and Duchess for helping me out with the Echolls Family Christmas timeline and a couple of other plot points. Some of that is incorporated here.

X X X X X

Of course, in the original timeline, it had been Lynn Echolls who'd hired Dad with Aaron pooh-poohing the entire thing. Why had this changed? I don't know. This couldn't be a direct rerun, anyway, because there was no Weevil Navarro to get pissed off at getting cheated in a poker game. Maybe Aaron, who I've never seen as being a moron ( a loathsome, murderous, publicity-hungry, ignorant-about-his-family sexual predator, but not a moron), had subconsciously picked up on the dangers of Sunnydale and was willing to take these threats more seriously because of it.

Either way, that meant I couldn't rely on my knowledge of the future to handle this in more than a very broad sense. If Logan came to me asking me to help him with a problem with his poker game, I'd know where to go. Until then, I'd have to play it by ear.

It also occurred to me that maybe more people than in the original timeline might have cause to loathe Aaron Echolls. In that go-round, Xander Harris hadn't been around to date Lilly, and unlike Weevil, Xander knew damn well who'd killed Lilly. He'd promised not to go after the man, but a nasty note or two? Not out of the realm of possibility.

So Dad and Giles handled their investigations, and I headed home to bed.

X X X X X

I got to school early again the next morning and was treated to a glare, but no comments, from Snyder. I wonder if me telling him off had led to him deciding it just wasn't worth the effort, or something.

I wasn't betting my future, there. (I wasn't going to be making any bets for the rest of my life, if I had a choice; at least, not ones that weren't sanctioned by Vegas or at least the California Gaming Commission. A run-in with the Adversary can have that effect. On the off chance you ever run into him, keep this in mind. I'd say run, but really, why waste your energy?)

Buffy came up to me. "Let me guess," I said. "Giles wants to talk to me."

"And you said you couldn't do magic," Buffy said. "You just read my mind."

"So what am I thinking now?" I asked brightly as we walked towards the library.

"You're not my type," Buffy said.

I shrugged. "Close enough."

Giles and Ms. Calendar were there. "You two get anything last night?" I asked when I walked in. "And no, that wasn't an attempt to gross Buffy out."

"Death threats," Ms. Calendar said curtly.

"What?" Buffy asked in outrage. "You didn't tell me --"

"They hadn't happened yet," Giles said wearily.

"I was on one of the forums when I got an email from one of the other members telling me that I'd better lay off Rack; that they knew who I was and if anything happened they'd come for me. I shut down my computer immediately and did a thorough check; it looks like they were bluffing, at least about knowing who I was --"

"But in any event, it would seem that Rack might be aware that someone is looking into him," Giles said.

"I guess that means our plans for an all-out frontal assault are out, then," I said.

"Assuming we ever had such plans," Giles said, "Yes, they most certainly are."

"Just for the record, I never did," I said. "From everything I got last night this guy might be too powerful for us to even think about trying that anyway. I'm the only one he can't really affect, and I wouldn't be able to do a whole hell of a lot once I got to him."

"Yes, this is going to require a bit of thought," Giles said. "Still, the work you did last night should prove invaluable in that regard."

"Angel went around and checked around the eight places that vampire listed last night," Buffy said, "And found the entrance to Rack's at the fifth of them, in an alley maybe four blocks from the Bronze."

"And some of the other information matches what Giles and I learned," Ms. Calendar said.

"And since Zeb had no way of knowing that we had other sources that tells me we can pretty much trust everything he said," I said. "Hey – how about the entry to his TARDIS?"

"Ah," Giles said. "There, I have found much that is promising. I believe with the proper components we could indeed shut off his access to that dimension." He got a faintly aggrieved look on his face. "And could you please stop referring to it as a TARDIS?"

"Do you find the usage genuinely insulting or just mildly annoying?"

He hesitated. "Well –"

"TARDIS it is," I said.

"Shouldn't've hesitated, Giles," Buffy said.

He fixed her with a stern glare. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, thank you."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Not at the moment," Giles said.

"Cool." I got up and headed to class.

X X X X X

The mystery of gothy-goth's secret admirer was solved by lunchtime; I confronted my suspect in my office between second and third periods, told my client about him after third, and introduced them at lunchtime. It was about the most unlikely crush you'd ever want to see, from the viewpoint of how they looked, anyway; the secret admirer was as preppy as it comes. I'd say he was an '09er if I still lived in Neptune.

She paid me $100, and went off to talk with the guy. I couldn't tell if she was flattered, insulted, or wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp, but it wasn't really my concern anymore.

The end of the case cleared maybe 5% of my schedule, but with my life every little bit helps. I gulped down a yogurt and went to go track down Xander.

He was sitting at the other end of the cafeteria, trying and failing to entertain a couple of other students by playing with his food. It took me a minute – and the ability to dodge falling Jell-O – but I finally caught his attention and got him to walk with me.

He stopped short at the entrance to my office. "I'm not going into the girl's room," he said.

"Well, I'd make the meeting in the janitor's closet instead, but I'm afraid Cordelia would sue me for copyright infringement," I said. "Move."

He got in there and I put the Out of Order sign on the door. "You seem annoyed," he said.

Oh, boy, was that the understatement of the century. "Not at you." I said. "You just happen to be the person in front of me. If you repeat this to anyone, I will deny it emphatically. Do you agree not to repeat it?"

"Is it going to involve hurting anyone I care about?"

"I'm pretty sure it won't," I said. "In fact, it involves pain to someone you actively hate."

"Then I agree," he said.

"Thought you would," I said. "Are you sending threatening letters to Aaron Echolls?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

As a liar, Xander Harris was fair to middling, for the most part. I was pretty sure I could tell the difference, and this time, my instincts told me he was genuinely confused.

Still, instincts? Good to use. Helpful. Not something to rely on for 100% of your information unless you have nothing else to go on. So I pushed a little.

"Someone's been sending Aaron Echolls letters threatening to kill him. You have motive. I wanted to be sure it wasn't you."

He blinked a couple of times, and then said, "why do you care if someone's threatening that bastard?'

"Directly? I don't. I don't even care if they carry it out. But Aaron hired my Dad yesterday to find out who's been threatening him, and if it's you, he will find out. So, if it's you, stop. And if it's not you, don't pick up on it as a wonderful idea.'

Nodded his head slightly, he said, "Okay. Fair enough. And just for the record, it's not me."

"I didn't think it was your style but I had to make sure," I said.

"I get that," he said. "And while we're on the subject of the psychopathic murdering bastard –"

Well, I couldn't say I wasn't expecting this. "Yes?" I asked.

"What's being done to make sure he gets what's coming to him?" Xander asked.

"My father knows everything I do, and I'm sure he knows more besides," I said. "Except, I've never brought you up. He doesn't know you dated Lilly, or that you've also seen the evidence. He may run across you on his own. I'd make book on it. But he agrees with you and me: Aaron did it. You didn't, Logan Echolls, didn't, Duncan didn't. But you'd all be top on the list of 'people to throw into the line of fire' if we accused him without having every I dotted and T crossed."

"Yeah. I got that," Xander said. "Hey. Would it be worth it for me to go to your Dad in advance? 'cause I'm assuming the local cops, who have already proven that they can't tell the difference between the Hellmouth and the holes in their heads, aren't going to be worth it."

I snorted. "Going to them would be counterproductive. They'd probably latch on to you until they twisted things to make you fit. Donnie doesn't learn from experience and he's still sour because he was wrong on Abel Koontz and because Ted Buchanan is 'still at large.'" Actually, on balance, Lamb was still coming out looking good when it came to Ted; the Sunnydale Sheriff's Department still got the credit for flushing him out and gathering enough evidence to send him to the gas chamber.

Still, it would be a major publicity coup for them to catch Lilly's "real killer."

"Dad, though," I continued, "He might grill you till you scream, but he'll be fair."

"Do you think my name will come up?"

"Not through me," I said. "Otherwise? Your call."

He said, "Okay. Thanks for the information, and the advice."

I smiled. "That's what I'm here for."

X X X X X

Sheila caught up with me in between classes that afternoon and said, "Mind if I come with you?"

"Well, I'll be going to the office –"

"Don't care," she said. "Not going home tonight. Mom had the stomach flu last weekend."

She wouldn't elaborate, but she didn't need to. Mabel Kelly wouldn't drum up any business if she was throwing up all over the place. I was guessing she was going to be working and extra-long weekend; hell, she might even be working now. No way would Sheila want to go home.

"I don't know about tonight," I said, though I could probably convince Dad to let Sheila stay there one night, "But you can stay with as long as possible."

She nodded. "Thanks, manhunter."

"You okay on books?"

"Got a couple from the library," she said. "'sokay, there."

I checked in with Buffy, but there was nothing concerning Rack scheduled for after school, so Sheila and I went from there to home, to walk and feed Backup. (He still liked Sheila; his initial reaction had apparently been right. I needed to learn to trust him more.

From there, we headed to the office.

There wasn't a lot to do; Dad was out and about tracking down possible Aaron Echolls stalkers, so that pretty much left me with mail sorting and general straightening up. Not that the office ever became a pig sty, anyway. Combined that took about an hour, with Sheila sitting and waiting on the couch, reading a book called Guns of the South.

"My turn?" Sheila said when I said I was done. "Cool. Magic time."

And so to the Magic Box, where Rae waved and nodded us to the back room.

"Nothin' new to day, manhunter," Sheila said. "Same old stuff. 'm just combining it, is all." And so, once again, I dragged in a couple of packing crates, and stood clear as Sheila took out a knife.

"Find the target and--?" I asked.

"Focus," she said. "Draw a mark and get over here." So I took a tube of lipstick and drew the mark, then moved to stand next to Sheila.

She closed her eyes, muttered a couple of words, opened them, and threw the knife --

Which not only hit the wood of the crate, it broke entirely threw it and buried itself inside the crate on the far side.

"Impressive," I said.

She grinned her trademark evil grin and said, "Thanks. Can't combine it with the distance strike for some reason, but I'm working on it. Still cool, though. Almost like I have superstrength."

"How long before you join the WWF?"

"Don't really give a shit about pandas," she said.

I rolled my eyes. "Wrestling, nitwit," I said.

"I know. And I'm not. The women never get to do any real hitting. And can you see me in a bikini and leather pants?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, and said, "I don't think there's a way for me to answer that question without having it sound dirty."

"I know."

"Has anyone ever told you you're evil?"

"Many times. And they're usually right."

A deep voice behind us -- near the doorway to the back alley -- said, "I could help you with that spell."

Sheila and I whirled around.

Apparently it was "Give Veronica Mars a heart attack" week in the universe, because the guy who said that?

Rack.

Yes, that Rack. Long dark hair, black shirt, smarmy look on his scarred face. A jovial Snape.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

Sheila looked at me. "This is him?"

"This is him," I said.

Rack looked at me. "How do you know who I am?"

"Educated guess," I snapped. "What do you want, Rack?"

"One moment," he said. "So that would be a no, then?" he asked Sheila.

"Damn right. Just got over one addiction. Don't need another."

Where the hell was Rae? "Give her a 'first one's free' and I'll kill you where you stand." Bluff? No. Wishful thinking? Probably. No matter that his magic wouldn't work on me, no matter that I couldn't hear anyone else, he was still bigger than I was. And I was pretty sure all my holy water pistol would do was get him wet.

He smiled. "I appreciate your willingness to defend your friend. No, if she doesn't want my help. I won't give it to her. I actually came to talk with you, Miss Mars."

"Oh really?" I asked. "Someone swipe your cash jar? Because you needing a private detective? I can't see it." I'd ask how he knew my name, but really, it couldn't have been too hard to find out once he put in the effort.

"Not as a detective," he said. "As a messenger. There are efforts afoot to end my business here -- and that would end in disaster." He frowned slightly. "Due to some kind of interference, I can't tell what kind of disaster, but I'm fairly sure it would end up with everyone involved dead, or wanting to be -- including me. This would occur if you came after me, or if I tried a pre-emptive strike. I don't think anyone wants that." I read him as telling the truth; my instinct was all I had to go on here.

"So whaddaya want her to do?" Sheila asked.

"I want a meeting," he said. "The time and place of your choosing."

"How will you know?" I said.

"Leave a message with Ms. Mistwood," he said. "Do we have a deal?"

"A tentative one," I said.

He nodded slightly. "Good enough." He turned to walk outside, and we followed him in time to see him disappear into a doorway in the alley.

Well.

Of all the ways I'd seen this being settled?

Diplomacy was somewhere on the bottom of the list.

Right above "High card wins." 


	65. The Bodies

Author's Note: A slightly longer part than normal -- I didn't want to try to pad it out to two parts.

I told you this wasn't going to end well. Now you see how.

X X X X X

"He wants what?" Giles asked. We were all sitting in the library, of course.

"He wants to sit down and negotiate," I said.

"Yeah. Couldn't believe it either," Sheila said.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Cordelia asked.

"Almost never," Xander said.

Cutting off Cordelia's retort, I said, "Actually, yes I do, Cordelia."

Xander looked at me like I'd grown another head, and actually, so did Cordelia, but she recovered quickly enough and said, "I think he's lying through his teeth. Hello! Even I can see this is a trap."

"When we have the choice of when or where?" Buffy said. "I don't know. Ms. Calendar? You've read more about the man than anyone here. What do you think?"

"He's perfectly capable of trying to read the future," she said. "It's not an exact science, and where Veronica's concerned it's a lot less exact, but he could have seen a future where everyone was dead. For the rest, well, I never got the sense that he was particularly confrontational," she said. "This seems in character from what I know, but I'm not claiming to be an expert here."

"Not confrontational?" Xander said. "Didn't he burn a vampire from the inside out?"

"Protecting your customers makes sense," I said. "Doesn't make him confrontational."

"You sound like you believe him," Buffy said.

"My instincts say he was telling the truth," I said. "But they also say Cordelia's making a lot of sense. Even if this isn't a trap, if we decide to have the meeting it would make a lot of sense to prepare for it like it was one."

"Okay," Buffy said. "Let's go by that assumption at the moment. That Rack really wants to negotiate with us. The question then is –"

"Ooh! I know! The question is, what does he want?" Willow said.

"He wants us not to kill him, duh," Cordelia said.

"That wasn't even on the table," Buffy said firmly. "But Cordy's right in general – I'm sure part of what he wants is for us not to attack him, whether he's telling the truth about our futures or not. But that wasn't the question I had in mind, Will."

"Oops," Willow said. "Guess I can't predict the future yet."

"A matter of time," Buffy said. "Anyway, the question I was going for was, should we negotiate at all? Wouldn't this be like talking with the local drug lord instead of sending in the SWAT team?"

"Confront the drug lord, everyone dies," Sheila said. "Talk with him? Dunno. But not everyone dies."

"Can I make a suggestion?" I said.

"Of course, Miss Mars," Giles said.

"Ms. Calendar? I realize that the spirits and such don't necessarily perform on cue, but is there any way for you to doublecheck Rack's predictions?"

She frowned. "You're involved; it'll probably be as vague as his were, if I can get anything."

"Is it worth a shot? It's one thing we can do to confirm whether he's telling the truth," I said.

"It may be out best opportunity to determine whether Rack's proposal is even worth considering," Giles said.

She still seemed dubious, so I said, "Include me out, then."

"Excuse me?"

"Odds weren't that I was going to be involved in any assault, anyway," I said. "I know my limitations." I may ignore them a lot of the time, but believe me, I'm aware of what they are. "Don't factor me in. Assume I'm sitting at home, tending to my knitting."

"You knit?" Cordelia asked in the tone one might use to ask "You dumpster-dive?"

"Figure of speech," I said.

Ignoring the exchange, Giles said, "Perhaps – if possible – both viewpoints might be utilized?"

Nodding, Ms. Calendar said, "Yeah. I can try that. It'll take me a while, though."

"So, meet here tomorrow morning?" I asked.

"Morning as in 1 in the afternoon, right?" Xander said. "I mean, it is the weekend. Who wakes up early on a weekend?"

Willow, Giles, Cordelia and I all raised our hands.

"I believe, under the circumstances," Giles said, "That you can forgo sleeping until noon and settle for waking up at 9 AM."

"Will there at least be donuts?"

"Yes, Xander," Giles said tiredly. "There will be donuts. And possibly even coffee."

X X X X X

As we drove back to the apartment, I told Sheila, "I know getting up early isn't your favorite thing to do on weekends –"

"I've been in your apartment, manhunter," she said. "You and your Dad up by 8, even tryin' to keep quiet, 'll wake me up."

I said, "I haven't actually had the time to ask him . . ."

"'scool. I'll find somewhere."

The hell she would. Too much of a risk, in Sunnydale. The gods knew she wouldn't be going home.

As I stood outside, I had the feeling someone was watching me, but when I looked around I couldn't see anyone.

I opened the door to find Dad there watching a movie. "Hi honey," he said when I got in. Then, seeing my companion, he said, "Sheila."

"Mr. Mars," Sheila said. Then, after flashing me a glance, she said, "Can I use the bathroom?"

I pointed her to it, and once the door closed, said, "So whatcha watchin'?"

"_The Man Who Came to Dinner_," he said. I'd actually seen that one; you pick a few things up from a Dad with a love for classic movies. A movie about an uninvited guest wreaking havoc? Not exactly what I wanted to be at the top of Dad's mind right now. "What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want anything?" I asked innocently.

"Long and bitter experience," he said. "Spill."

"Can Sheila stay here tonight?"

"You haven't had a sleepover since – since Lilly," he said. "And somehow Sheila doesn't seem like the hair-braiding type."

Hair-pulling, maybe. "Got it in one," I said. "Her mother's making up for lost time."

Grimacing, he said, "Yeah. You know, maybe one of these days I'll go down to that station and shove the situation in Don Lamb's face."

And Lamb's response would be to tell Dad to fuck off, and possibly die. A situation like this wouldn't be on Donny's radar at the best of times, unless the Mayor personally ordered it.

"Worth a shot," I said. "But unless you're planning to storm down there tonight –"

He sighed and said, "Sure, sweetie. She can stay."

"You do realize you're the best father on the planet, right?"

"I've been told that on occasion," he said. "Always by you."

"And who knows you better?" I hugged him and then headed to the kitchen to fix Sheila and me something to eat.

X X X X X

She forced me to sleep in the bed; I was going to take the floor, but she said, "Then we'll both be on the floor. And I bite."

"And punch."

"Yeah. So: I'm not sleepin' in your bed, Goldilocks, and you aren't sleepin' with me on the floor. Do the math."

We did do something that's done at slumber parties: we stayed up and talked. But not about boys (well, okay, a little, but hardly at all) and not about clothes or hair or anything. I think it's pretty obvious that Sheila and me? Never getting on the cover of Cosmo. I would dress up if the situation called for it – I wasn't quite a Daria – but by and large I always go by the principle that as long as people aren't laughing and pointing when I walk out the door, I'm dressed well enough.

We talked magic, and vampires, and books, and things, until we fell asleep.

Once, I thought I saw someone looking through the window, but when I pulled the shade, nothing.

X X X X X

Up and out early enough the next morning to make Dad wonder what was going on. "We're planning to take over the world," I said. "You want to be cut in?"

Sipping his coffee, he said, "Depends. What'd you have in mind? Court jester? Official dog walker?" Backup perked his head up.

"Lord High Executioner," Sheila said.

Raising my eyebrows, I said, "I was going to go with chief cook and bottle washer, but I like the way you think, Sheila."

We picked up coffee for everyone on the way in; the meeting began promptly at 9, with people in various states of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed-ness, from Cordelia, who was completely alert and perfectly coiffured, to Xander, who was drooling on the table.

Ms. Calendar looked like she'd been up all night, as well, but then, she probably had been. "Well, then," Giles said. "I see we're all in our places with dull, grumpy faces. Shall we begin?"

Cordelia must have kicked Xander under the table, because he immediately bolted upright and said, "The answer is twelve!"

"Ah, Xander," Giles said. "I see you've decided to join us this morning. Excellent. Ms. Calendar?" He gestured for the computer teacher to begin.

"I tried several different ways," she said, "And I did them traditionally, as well. I checked my system thoroughly and I don't think anyone hacked in, but just to be on the safe side I wanted to be sure no one would try to mess with my perceptions."

"And?" Willow asked.

"As near as I can tell, Rack was telling the truth – and he was telling it whether you're involved or not, Veronica. Of course, when you're there it's a lot more vague – a lot more margin for error. So it's possible that you're involved we win and everyone's happy."

"But you don't think so." I asked, not making it a question.

"Never say never," she said. "Especially when you're involved. I had to make the questions broader to get any kind of coherent answer at all."

"Anything more specific?" I asked.

"An overdose of magic and a massive fire," Ms. Calendar said. "I couldn't get anything more detailed than that.

"So we have a rough idea of what happens when we don't negotiate," Cordelia said. "Did you think to check what happens when we do?"

"No, I didn't," Ms. Calendar said.

"Well, why not?"

"Because," Ms. Calendar said grumpily. "There's this little thing called sleep. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"Got eight hours last night," Cordelia said triumphantly.

"Bully for you," Ms. Calendar muttered. "In any event, this is the best we're going to get. And for the record, I'm not going to do this every time. There's a difference between a quick check and a thorough one, and this one was as thorough as I could make it. Checking multiple ways, catching the attention of the right powers, and doublechecking, is beyond exhausting.

"We've done well enough so far without any firm knowledge of our futures," Giles said. "I believe we can continue on our own, as well."

"Yeah," Xander said. "We're just glad you did this much." He shot a glance at Cordelia. "Well, most of us are, anyway."

"So it appears our answer is yes, correct?" Giles said.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "But there's no reason we have be dumb about it."

"Trust everybody, but cut the cards," I said.

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. Nothing's saying we all have to be here. Me, Giles, Xander and Willow will do the negotiating. Cordy, you, Ms. Calendar, Sheila, and Angel, go hide somewhere and don't tell us where. Veronica, you stay out of sight somewhere in the library. If things go to hell, you can bolt for the back door and let Angel and them know. Seem like a plan?"

"Hide somewhere?" Cordelia said.

"Yeah," Xander said. "Why not in a bookstore? No one would ever think to look for you there."

"'scool with me," Sheila said.

Ms. Calendar and Cordelia did agree to go along, and when Sheila went home (briefly, to change clothes; her mom had to sleep sometime) she explained the situation to Angel as well.

I went to the magic store and told Rae that the meeting was that night at 6 PM in, yes, the high school library.

In the afternoon went to see if there was anything I could help Dad with, in his investigation, and found Xander in his office, talking to him about his relationship with Lilly. Dad hadn't in fact known about it, but didn't seem inclined towards thinking of him as a suspect -- certainly not where Lilly was concerned, though he did bring it up as a possibility, I suspect just to cover all the bases.

Last night he'd managed to get Aaron Echolls to give him a list of the local women he'd had affairs with, and most of today was spent checking that list to see who was capable of sending the notes, which helped not only that case but the possible one against him for Lilly's death.

Good. Good, good, good.

The party itself was tomorrow evening. No poker game this go-round, but I was still, unofficially, on the guest list. We'd see what happened. I still wasn't actively investigating. I couldn't help it if I ran into anything.

X X X X X

The negotiation, that evening, proved the definition of anticlimax. Rack showed up right on time; I hid in the stacks and used my book-bug (yes, it was still there, and still untouched) so I could hear the discussion clearly; without it, I would have been able to make out maybe every other word).

Above all things, apparently, Rack was a businessman, and it was bad business to stay in a place where there were people who, if they tried to drive him away, would apparently succeed.

It killed me not to deal with him permanently, but they weren't going to be able to get him agree to stop his business, and we all knew it. They did agree to get him to not go after minors, and to stay out of Sunnydale for -- hah! -- four years. Which meant he'd be back right in time for season 6, when neither Willow nor Sheila would be minors any more.

He also agreed not to attack us or any of our relatives, unless we attacked him first.

They, in turn, agreed to let him leave town, and not to go after his clients unless they went after us first. What happened in four years was anybody's guess, I guess.

It wasn't a happy ending. Not at all. Not what I'd hoped. But it was, apparently, the best we were going to get. Buffy had evaded a prophecy about her death, but she wasn't going to try to buck one that led to other people dying.

He got back into his TARDIS and left.

And that was, apparently, that.

X X X X X

Later in the evening, we were at the Bronze. Willow was talking to Oz, in a corner. Sheila was talking to a guy. "Not a vamp this time. 'm sure." Buffy checked and pronounced him human, if skeezy.

Cordelia and Angel weren't there. A couple of times I'd felt I was being watched again, and asked Buffy, who also didn't find anyone.

"Nothing obvious," she said. "Want me to look around?"

"Would you?"

She did, and found a vampire, but he'd been way away from me anyway, so it wasn't him. Still, by the time she was done, I no longer had the feeling.

The conversation eventually turned to Rack. Over and over again.

"You think he's gone?" Xander said.

"What I think," I said, "Is that that's the fourth time you've asked that question. Which means it's time for me to go home. See if my Dad's made any progress on his case."

"I hope not," Xander said.

"Wrong case," I said.

"Ah. That one, I wish him well in."

"Do I want to know what you're talking about?" Buffy said.

"Probably not," I said. "Goodnight."

My car was a couple of blocks away; I had my holy water pistol at the ready just in case.

When I was maybe a block away from my car I felt someone watching me. I whirled around --

And found someone.

More particularly, someones.

Maybe ten people were standing there, ranging in age from fourteen to sixty. And not a single one looked happy.

The only one I recognized for sure was Amy Madison, and that more from the show than the brief encounters we'd actually had. "What do you want?"

"It was you," one of the older people said.

"It was me, what?" I said, though I knew. These were Rack's customers.

And they'd never agreed to do anything. And Rack hadn't agreed to have them not do anything.

Shit.

"You're the reason Rack left us," a woman said, as though Rack were the second coming and I'd had him crucified.

"He left on his own," I said.

"After you attacked him," Amy said. "Do you know what he did for us?'

"Addicted you?' I said.

"He gave us power," Amy said. "And now, we're going to show you some of it."

As all ten people began to chant, I turned to run. I might be immune to magic, but if one of these people set my car on fire or something, I could sure as hell burn.

I got maybe ten feet when I felt the first blast, then the second. I couldn't tell what they were and had no desire to turn and find out. I passed my car, but had no time to get in and start it. Ten people could overwhelm me even without magic.

I heard a faint voice say, indignantly, "No." It wasn't Amy; but it was familiar.

Unfortunately, I was running in the wrong direction to find Buffy, or even to make it to my car, and Dad? No way was I getting him involved.

Angel, maybe, assuming he was at home. His apartment building was in this general direction, maybe a mile or so away, and while I might not be a Slayer, I'm capable of running a m--

X X X X X

Ow.

Ow, ow, ow.

My head felt like someone had smashed me in the back of the skull with a baseball bat.

I opened my eyes -- I was lying on the sidewalk, face down. I felt the back of my head -- blood. Not a lot of it, but enough to make me worry.

What had happened?

I'd been running from the mob of witches --

Ignoring the pain, I got to my feet as quickly as I could -- if they were still around --

No.

God, no.

This --

This --

There were bodies everywhere.

Worse: They'd been sliced to ribbons. The street was littered with dead and bleeding bodies.

"Do you like it?" an almost shy voice came from behind me. "I did it for you, you know."

It was the voice I'd heard earlier, only now I could recognize it.

_Drusilla_.

Before the shock set in, one oddly abstract thought occurred to me.

I no longer needed to worry about whether my presence was causing major changes in the Buffy timeline. I was.

Because everyone who'd been chasing me was dead.

_Including Amy Madison._


	66. I Have My Eyes On You

Shock was setting in. Like the last time I'd faced Drusilla all by myself.

I couldn't let it. Not yet. She was still here and I was within fifty feet of ten dead bodies -- and this wasn't a back alley, either. Someone would come along and I couldn't be here when they did. Even Don Lamb would be capable of reading this evidence and jumping to a wrong, but justifiable, conclusion.

I looked back at Drusilla and said, as convincingly as I could, "Yes. I do like it." This was harder than it sounds, and I don't think I'm making it sound easy. Her face, skirt, and nails were covered in blood and she was grinning from ear to ear.

She smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. I would have been unhappy if you hadn't."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," I said. "Thank you for saving me."

She curtsied, and if there's a stranger sight than a lunatic vampire, covered in the evidence of her slaughter, curtsying as though she were meeting the queen of England, I never, ever want to see it. "You are very welcome. I couldn't let them."

"Let them hurt me?" I hadn't wanted them to hurt me, either, but this wasn't even close to how I wanted that to happen.

"Of course not," she said. "I can't, you know, because I'm afraid of what's behind you, and I don't want them to pull back the curtain if I can't. And anyway you're my Martian, not theirs."

"Can I be my own Martian?"

She giggled. "Of course, silly. Both at once and it doesn't even break that silly law of contradiction. I'm not going to put you in a cage. Martians would look silly in cages, don't you think?"

"I do," I said. "Would you mind if we left? I don't want anyone seeing me standing here with the bodies."

"Don't be silly," she said. "Martians use ray guns."

"Yes, but people around here are kind of stupid," I said. "They might not know that."

"They are stupid or else they'd leave, wouldn't they? And they don't. I guess that's how come I was able to kill them all."

Every last one of them had been a witch. How had Drusilla stopped them?

How didn't matter. She was fast, she was strong, she could hypnotize anyone but me, and she'd apparently taken most of them by surprise. And crazy as she was, she wasn't stupid.

And I sure as hell wasn't going to ask for any kind of play-by-play.

They were dead and I couldn't be found anywhere near them and I would not succumb to shock now while Drusilla was standing ten feet away acting like a cross between the Joker and the Queen Mother.

"So," she said, "Where would you like to go?"

Unconsciously quoting Buffy, I said, "Anywhere but here." I realized in the back of my head that it had probably been Drusilla stalking me for the last day, which meant she knew where I lived, but I was still hoping that maybe it was the witches; in any event, I wasn't taking her back there, when Dad might be there, because that was a confrontation I would give my left hand to avoid ever happening.

Okay, my entire left arm.

She closed her eyes and pointed in what looked like a random direction. "They won't be coming from over there," she said.

That was in the rough direction of Angel's apartment, so that was fine by me.

Note: I know: Ten dead people. Ten people who would not be dead if I hadn't forced a premature confrontation with Rack. Yes, I have to think about that. Hard.

But do you mind if I don't think about it a whole hell of a lot right now?

Drusilla and I walked quickly away from the scene. When we were maybe three blocks away I said, "Could I ask you to slow down?"

"Of course you can," she said. "Martians can ask anything. That's what makes them Martians."

"Will you please slow down?"

"Why, certainly." She was not holding my arm and not forcing me. I still knew better than to run. Right now two things were keeping me alive: Drusilla's twisted sense of courtesy and her reluctance to see what was behind me. I wasn't going to push that.

"Thank you very much, Sparhawk." Yes, I'd managed to squeeze in the time to read the Elenium since the last time Drusilla and I had chatted. It seemed like she might appreciate it if I called her my champion. (Yes. I'm shuddering mentally at the image.)

She giggled. "Thank you, but you're anakha and Sparhawk is anakha and I still can't read you, not one line, so I can't be Sparhawk; I think I'd rather be the wise woman, the one who protects Sparhawk with her magic."

"Lady Sephrenia?"

She laughed and clapped, "Oh, goody! I like that! I shall be your Lady Sephrenia and protect you from all the nasty beings who want to hurt you." She leaned in and said conspiratorially, "I hope we run into the troll gods."

"They're fictional," I said.

Taken aback, she said, "But anakha and Lady Sephrenia are fictional and here we both are, as real as the rain. So why not the troll gods?" Another giggle. "I think they'd be fun."

Yes, she would think they were fun, wouldn't she?

We were still walking along the same street maybe ten minutes later when rescue arrived in the form of a man in a Citroen. (Giles, of course.) I was very careful not to seem happy about it.

Giles wasn't dumb enough to simply stop and get out of the car. No, the first inkling that he was there – we'd been passed by cars before, not a single one of which, in true Sunnydale style, had seemed to notice that Drusilla's hands and dress were soaked in blood, never mind that I was still operating under a possible concussion and looked like it – was when he smashed into Drusilla at about thirty miles an hour.

Drusilla went flying down the road as Giles yelled, "Get in!"

He didn't have to tell me twice. Hell, he didn't have to tell me once; I was moving for the passenger side before he opened his mouth.

Giles hadn't been going fast enough to do more than knock Drusilla down and about ten feet away. She stood up as I was getting into the car and said, "Is the evening over?"

"It is!" I yelled back.

"I had fun! We must do it again sometime! Then, as if she hadn't just been hit by a car (alright, a Citroen, but close enough), she turned and ran off down a nearby side street.

Giles backed up and said nothing until we were headed in the other direction. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm alive," I said. "And unfortunately, completely sane. I was hit in the back of the head by something, I'm not sure what. How did you know?"

"Buffy came across the scene of the massacre about – he checked his watch – fifteen minutes ago. It was starting to draw a crowd. When she saw your car not far away--" I'd been maybe fifty feet past it when I woke up – "and that you were nowhere among the deceased, she jumped, correctly as it turns out, to the conclusion that whoever had slaughtered those poor people had taken you."

"I'll have to thank her later," I said.

"What happened?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, those 'poor people' were attacking me when they were killed. They were some of Rack's clients. Apparently, when you cut off their supply, addicts tend to get upset. I didn't want them dead, but they're not innocent."

We rounded a corner. "Drusilla killed ten prepared magic-users?"

"Apparently. How, you'd have to ask her, because I'm never going to. Best I can figure is that they were prepared for me, not her."

"Could you tell me what happened?"

So I told him everything I could remember, from when I left the Bronze to when he plowed into Drusilla.

"This is worrisome," Giles said when I was done.

"Worrisome? Worrisome is finding out the guy next door used to rob banks for a living. This is full-blown panic-inducing."

"You're quite correct," he said. "And no understatement of the danger was intended. Drusilla is troublesome at the best of times. Now that she fancies herself your protector –"

"I have to worry about what she might think is worth protecting me from," I said. "This time, as it turns out, she was right. Hell no, I'm not approving her methods, but the magic-users weren't chasing me down the street throwing spells to invite me to a tea party. That doesn't mean that next time she might not think you, or Buffy, or Sheila, or my Dad, is hurting me, and that she needs to protect me from them."

"Indeed," he said grimly.

I had a thought. "Hey – turn right here."

"Why?"

"Because I'd like to retrieve my car, assuming Lamb hasn't has it towed on principle as being close enough to a crime scene that he can use that to justify harassing me."

"Did anyone see you?" he asked.

"I sure as hell hope not," I said. "I was too busy trying to be polite to Drusilla."

"Polite?"

"She's a big believer in courtesy," I said. "Courtesy by her definition, of course. Miss Manners would only recognize about half of it."

"Here we are," Giles said. "Where are you going next?"

"I can't go home," I said as I stepped out of the car. "Not yet. Fortunately, I'm not supposed to be home for another hour and a half, so I have that long to collect myself to make sure my Dad doesn't notice anything different about me."

"The library?"

"That'll do," I said. "Do you have a first aid kit there?" I blinked. "Of course you do. What am I thinking? I'll see you there as soon as I can." That would give me some time to think about what had happened. If I was going to go into shock, I would have done so already, but that didn't mean I wasn't stopping myself from going into semi-hysterics by sheer force of will.

And never mind my unintentional alteration of the timeline. Yes, Amy Madison disappeared from the storyline from nearly three years, but without her love spell?

There would be time to think about that later. I reached for the door of the Le Baron and a nauseatingly familiar voice came from behind me. "Hold it!"

"Which may be a while. If I don't make it, have Buffy or one of them call me at home," I told Giles, and turned around, forced a smile onto my face – believe you me, it didn't want to go there, not tonight, but I was going to be damned before I would show the owner of that voice anything but a defiant attitude. "Hi, Deputy," I said.

"Veronica Mars," he said. "I've been waiting for this."

"For what?" I asked.

"Here you are, at the scene of a murder."

"Yes. So are several dozen other people. Not including the victims."

"Don't give me that. Not with what I have."

"I think they have medicine for that," I said. Some people were good at bluffing. Donnie was merely competent, which meant I could read him like a Large-Print book. He had nothing on me.

"You won't be laughing when I'm done," he said.

"I'm not laughing now," I said.

"I have a witness."

"A witness to what?" Giles said from behind me. Unnoticed by me, he'd gotten out of his car and was now standing behind me.

"Who the hell are you?" Lamb asked.

"A concerned bystander," Giles said with steel in his voice. "Now answer my question."

Lamb looked at Giles, figured out he wasn't going to be able to bluster Giles away, decided threatening wasn't the effort (not that that would have worked, either, but it would have been interesting to watch), and said, "A witness that saw her here earlier tonight."

"Of course I was here," I said. "My car's here. I was here to drop it off, and now I'm back to pick it up. I have no idea how those people up there got killed, and if I'd seen anything, I'd tell you."

"Really?"

"Really," I said. "I hate you, Donnie, and I know you hate me – enough to distract you from a brutal murder scene just so you can bust my chops, apparently – but if I knew anything that would help you solve it, I wouldn't hold it back in a fit of pique. If I'd seen anything, heard anything, I'd tell you. I heard nothing; I saw nothing. And my LeBaron isn't talking."

I could tell in his eyes that the witness, if there was one, hadn't seen anything remotely incriminating, or he would be joyfully putting the handcuffs on me preparatory to hauling me off to the station.

"Well, you're going to have to wait to pick it up," he said.

"What on earth for?" Giles asked.

"Because it's close enough to the crime scene that there might be evidence on it."

I could tell that was a bullshit answer, especially when someone whose car was twenty feet closer but not in the actual zone of death was allowed to leave not ten seconds later, but this was Lamb proving to me that he still had power, so fine, I let him have this one. However: I reached into my bag and took several photographs of the car, inside and out.

"What are you doing?" Lamb asked.

"I'm not saying you'd let something happen to my car just because you don't like it," I said, leaving no doubt I was saying exactly that, "But just in case something does happen, now I have proof of what it was like. Just in case."

"Whatever," he said. "You can pick it up tomorrow morning. Unless we need it for evidence."

"Whatever helps you solve the case!" I said, refusing to let him bait me. "Mr. Giles? Could I get a ride from you?"

"Certainly, Miss Mars," Giles said, all too happy to play along. "Bear in mind, Sheriff: I am a witness to this young woman's good character and the state of her automobile. Kindly do not let any damage occur to either if it can be avoided. Am I understood?"

Ah, Ripper was coming out to play for a moment. Always a good time.

"Understood," Lamb muttered, and turned away.

Once Giles and I were in the Citroen and safely away from the scene of the crime, he said, "That man is the Sheriff?" I nodded. "Were no Keystone Kops available? Good Lord. There are ten people viciously killed not fifty feet away and he decides to give you a hard time instead of investigating. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't be able to track down Drusilla, or do anything once he caught her."

"Probably?" I said. "Drusilla could have a neon sign over her head saying 'murderer' and Lamb wouldn't be able to find her. I almost hope he does."

"Miss Mars," he said in a tone of mild reprimand.

"No, Mr. Giles. That man has done a great deal to harm me. More than you know and more than I'm going to share." Here, as in my original timeline, I'd gone to Lamb when I'd been raped at the Christmas party, and here, as in the original timeline, he'd essentially laughed in my face and told me he had better things to do. "He's in that list of people who I don't necessarily actively want dead, but wouldn't waste five seconds mourning, either."

He thought for a second, nodded, and said, "Fair enough."

"Now, could we not talk for a few minutes?" I asked. "I've been holding myself together with spit and baling wire and I'd like to not have to for a bit. My Dad knows of my other encounter with Drusilla – no, not that she's a vampire; you'll notice I'm here and not in Guam – and I don't want him to be the tiniest bit suspicious about anything other than the placement of my car."

"Understood," he said soberly.

And the rest of the way there – barely ten minutes, even the way Giles drove – I sat there, and thought.

About everything, pretty much. About the damned Adversary and the bet. About Amy and what her absence would do the Buffyverse. (Without her love spell, Xander and Cordelia stay broken up; and that's just the beginning of that one. Minor or not, she'd had her part to play, and her absence would change things, in ways I couldn't predict.

About ten dead people. That was a complicated moral issue, no two ways about it. Yes, they'd been trying to kill me. Yes, if it came down to it and I had to answer on pain of whatever fate worse than death was the flavor of the day, a choice between them and me is no choice at all. It's not like they were ten people picked at random; they were ten people doing their damnedest to end my life.

Even that doesn't mean they earned Drusilla.

About Drusilla and that the lives of all of my friends – and my father now depended on Drusilla's nonexistent ability to make good judgments. The only reason I wasn't going to demand we clear out of town was that that would pretty much be me conceding the bet.

And I couldn't do that. If it was just my pride, my money, my honor, or even my life on the table, I'd throw in the towel.

It was more than that.

If I went down, others would come with me.

That? Not happening.

We drove on.


	67. Daymares

SThere was no one else at the library when we got there; of course not. They were all out looking for me.

I had about an hour before I was supposed to be home.

"Miss Mars?" Giles said after he wiped off the back of my head as best as he could. "Are you feeling up to talking?"

I sighed. "Of course not. Still. What do you need?"

Giles shook his head. "No. I was asking if there was anything I could do for you."

I held up a finger, took a piece of paper, and wrote on it, "Kill Drusilla." After a second, I added, "And Spike." Then I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash.

"A worthy goal, to be sure, but I was thinking of something more immediate."

"So was I," I said.

"If I may ask? Why did you write it?"

"She was watching me, Giles," I said. "For all I know she's watching me right now." Paranoid? Maybe. But in this case, justifiable; someone is out to get me, even if she'd be offended if someone told her that. "And please don't tell me that you doubt it."

"On the contrary. While it may not be likely that it is occurring right this very second, it would probably be wise of you to assume that at any given moment, at night, she is watching you, and plan and speak accordingly."

Not what I wanted to hear right then. That Giles was probably right didn't make what he'd said any more appealing in the least. I growled in frustration, loudly enough to summon nearby mountain lions, and said, "Damn it to hell! If I wasn't overloaded enough already now I have to worry that my least utterance is going to piss off a lunatic murderess who makes the San Andreas Fault look stable."

"Well, only at night."

"Lovely. There goes sleep," I said.

"She still cannot enter your abode without an invitation."

"That doesn't make me feel a whole lot better." How had Buffy managed to sleep through the night? How had any of them?

I hadn't had a problem because until now I hadn't realized what form, and how intense, Drusilla's interests were. It had nothing to do with the realities of life in Sunnydale, which I'd been aware of since a couple of days after I got here.

"There is nothing requiring you to remain in Sunnydale," Giles said. "While we have appreciated all of your efforts, this is not your fight."

Oh, Giles. You have no idea how wrong you are. And I can't tell you any of it.

"Yes. There is," I said. "Lilly. I need to be around when we find her killer."

"That badly?"

"That badly." Which was true, and a fraction of the complete picture. The Mona Lisa's smile, by itself.

And enough to satisfy Giles, at the moment.

"Very well. Under the circumstances, there are other things you can do --"

"I know about them. Thank you, though. Believe me, I do appreciate everything you've done to help me, here and especially earlier. I was already in a bad mood and this has made it worse, plus I haven't been able to let the shock set in and whether that's mental or physical I don't know, but I think my willpower has just about run out." A part of me realized that I wasn't quite feeling the same things I had when Drusilla had confronted me in Dad's office a few weeks back; my heart wasn't racing and I wasn't gasping for air or feeling like I was about to faint.

But I was definitely done being in control. This was where I needed someone to hug and there was no one around.

And right then fate, for once in its miserable life, smiled on me for just a second. Buffy and Willow came in. Sheila, right now, was my best friend here in Sunnydale; but her idea of emotional support was punching me in the arm.

Buffy would be willing to hug me. And she did, after she and Willow said they were glad I was alive, or something like that; my memory of the words is fuzzy.

I don't know what let me stay at least semi-in-control until this point, whether it was sheer willpower or something metabolic or whether I had a little outside assistance, but I was extremely glad that it had. Dealing with Don Lamb while I was in hysterics would have more or less been the final straw. He would have had less sympathy than Spike. And I mean Spike now, not Spike later.

"What happened?" Willow said. "Are you okay? What –"

Buffy said, "Will, I don't think she's really up to answering a lot of questions right now." I shook my head, because yes, I wasn't up. If I was lucky, I'd be up to talking with my father without worrying him. Right now? No.

"Miss Mars told me what occurred," Giles said, and gave Buffy and Willow a five-minute summary. By the time she was done, Willow's eyes had bugged to the point that I were amazed they didn't fall out of her head, while Buffy, who had held my hand sympathetically the entire time, got grimmer and grimmer until, once Giles was done the encounter with Deputy Lamb, said, "Is he a demon?"

"Not that I could tell," Giles said. "You may not Slay him without proof."

"And Drusilla?"

"You may Slay her the second you find her," Giles said. "In fact, I think it might be a good idea to make that our next absolute priority – killing her and Spike. I suppose we should be thankful that his injury has kept him out of commission, or at least away from committing public mayhem."

If they pulled this off, now, this would have even bigger repercussions than Amy's death, and who knows what that even that could do? Still, that, maybe subtle, but this, if they do it? Major, major, major. No Drusilla past this season, bad enough, but no Spike? That would change things pretty much completely beyond recognition once you got past season 3. No Spike, no early recognition of the Initiative, not as many hints that maybe not all's kosher down there. No Spike, maybe Glory tortures someone else. I know the way I'm thinking right now I'm missing dozens of repercussions.

And maybe I should be thinking about what if anything I should do about it but right now I can't, I just can't. I've been thinking too hard and too long and I'd like to stop now, for just a little bit.

"Veronica?" Buffy said, and from her tone it sounded like maybe it wasn't the first time. "You there?"

"Barely," I said.

A humorless snort. "I get that. Look. Giles said you need to head home soon –" I looked up and somehow nearly 45 minutes had slipped by, and she was right, I needed to be home in about fifteen, and somehow, tomorrow, be ready to go to Aaron Echolls' Christmas party and not explode, at him, at the Kanes who would no doubt be there, at pretty much anyone in the building except for Dad, Logan, and possibly Cordelia, who wasn't my best friend but was still a hell of a lot nicer to be around than Jake and Celeste Kane always, and Duncan right now.

I needed to be ready to talk with Dad in fifteen minutes, and not have him more than annoyed at Lamb that he'd kept my car on a flimsy excuse.

I needed to not have made the bet with the Adversary in the first place, but I doubt even D'Hoffryn could get me out of that one.

"And he's right," I said. "It's later than I thought."

"I think I'm going to do tonight what I did a few weeks ago," she said. "The first time. And if I see her—"

In terms of the bet I suppose I should have said no; I also could have said no and said it was being a good friend and not wanting Buffy to put herself out that much for me.

But that was the only way I was going to get a good night's sleep, so I simply said, "Thank you."

"Miss Mars? Are you ready?"

I said, "Of course not. But I have no choice."

There are parts of me that would just like to curl up into a ball and cry for a week. Yes, me. Tough-as-nails Veronica Mars. And the 'vampire' part of the equation has almost nothing to do with it.

I don't have that luxury.

X X X X X

Sheila, thankfully, wandered in, along with Xander, as Giles and I were leaving. (Buffy was going to patrol and show up later. Her Mom – and remember, it was less than a week ago that we handled Ted – had headed off for a weekend to herself, with Buffy's connivance and encouragement.)

To note: Xander was happy to see me alive as well. I don't think he'd ever wanted me dead or injured, but it was still good to see.

Sheila surprised me, a little. No, she didn't hug me, but she did pull me aside for a second and ask quietly if I was okay, and who she needed to kill.

"No, I'm not okay," I said. "I was just protected from a gang of angry magic-users by one of the most dangerous beings on the planet. But if you mean will I be okay? I don't know that either. But I'll try."

"'sgood. Now, who hurt you? Because I'm sure as hell going to hurt them."

"Ask Giles who," I said. "And don't. Don't try. She killed ten witches, some of whom were a lot more powerful than you are." I almost forgot, but – "You okay to go home tonight?"

"Yeah. Mom's on an all-nighter in Santa Carolita. Thanks for letting me stay last night."

"Anytime," I said, and meant it.

"I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you," she said fiercely but quietly.

"Is that sentiment?"

"Yeah. It is. That should tell you something, Veronica."

It did. Even more than "Veronica."

X X X X X

I used the ride back to my apartment to collect myself as best as I could. This wasn't easy and I was convinced that Dad would notice something was wrong immediately and demand a full explanation I couldn't give him.

I turned and waved to Mr. Giles once I got inside. He nodded and drove off.

Now came the crucible.

"Who was that, sweetie?" Dad asked from his position at the kitchen table. (He'd clearly been going over evidence.) An absolutely neutral question, but one that could go any way depending A, my answer, and B, what he thought of it.

"That was the school librarian, Mr. Giles," I said. "He's the one who hired me to find that person sending him odd messages, remember?"

He nodded. "I remember. Why is he driving you home on a Saturday night?"

"You didn't hear?" I said.

"Veronica –" he said in his mildest "you'd-better-not-be-about-to-make-a-joke" tone.

"A couple of blocks from the Bronze, there was a big crime scene. More than one person was killed." So far, so good.

"When?" he said, alarmed but not seeming particularly suspicious.

"A couple of hours ago, I think. Lamb was there when I got there but he didn't look like he'd been there long. The Le Baron was parked maybe forty feet or so away from the scene – not inside the tape. Lamb stopped me, tried to get me to confess to the murders –"

"You'd better be kidding."

"I'm not, but don't get up, roar down to the sheriff's office, and try throwing him through the window; he was just yanking my chain because I happened to be there."

"In the middle of a crime scene?"

"Yup." Iron. I am iron. I am in control. I must be in control. I will not allow Dad to get involved in this or think I was any more involved then I'm telling him now.

Dad shook his head. "That man shouldn't be allowed to write traffic tickets."

"And yet," I said, "He's still probably the most qualified person currently on the force."

"Do I need to tell you how much that frightens me?"

"Not really," I said. "I called his bluff and in a fit of pique he told me I could leave but my car had to stay there in case there was any evidence on it." I let the littlest bit of my emotions out. Let Dad think it was irritation at the never-ending nuisance that was Don Lamb.

"So that's why you don't have the Le Baron," Dad said. "How'd Mr. Giles get involved?"

"Sheer good luck. He happened upon the scene, saw the Deputy harassing me, and got out of his car in time to make certain that Lamb knew that there was a witness to the current state of my car, just in case he got any ideas of trashing it and saying 'Gee, it must have been like that when I got here.' Once Lamb went away, he asked if I could use a ride and I told him yes."

"And that's all? You don't know anything more about the crime scene?"

"I'm not giving you every detail," I said. "But no. I didn't see anything that could help him and believe me, I'm not going to start any investigations on the subject." No point, of course.

"It didn't take you over an hour to get home."

"Well, remember Sheila? How she stayed here last night? I needed to track her down to see whether she needed to stay here again and Mr. Giles was nice enough to let me do so."

"Sounds like you took advantage of him," Dad said. Good. The last thing I wanted, now or ever, was a confrontation between Dad and Giles, because they were both one of the few people the other one couldn't intimidate, and while that might sound fun to contemplate, the safest place for any bystanders to be should they ever choose to lay into each other would be on the moon.

Of a planet in another galaxy.

Not that a discussion would necessarily lead to a confrontation; I live in the Buffyverse, not Marvel Comics. Still, something to be avoided if at all possible.

I realized that I hadn't thought about Drusilla in at least five minutes. Good. Thousands and thousands more to go.

"No, Dad, it was more like not having a choice, and Mr. Giles was happy to help. He understands Sheila's situation as well. And anyway, you'll notice Sheila's not with me. Turns out Mabel aka Grace has an all-nighter somewhere else, so she should be okay for the night."

"Good to know," Dad said.

"I thought so," I said. And right before Dad could start in on his best Columbo impression -- and it's a horrible impression, let me tell you -- "Oh. And while I was at the Bronze earlier I got clocked by a serving tray. In case you were wondering why I had this nasty gash on the back of my head." No way was I going to bluff him if he saw it, and if I tried to hide it he'd assume it was for a reason.

"Let me see that," he said, and I say down and let him examine it. "You were bleeding."

"Only a little," I said.

"More than a little. Who cleaned this?"

"Buffy," I said, and made a mental note to tell Buffy I'd fingered her for this. "Why?"

"She did a pretty good job," Dad said. "You might want to wash your hair before you go to bed tonight, though."

"I will," I said. "How are you doing?"

"I have it down to three women," Dad said. "I talked to two of them and they both tell stories of what a bastard the man is -- and one of them mentioned the camera system in the poolhouse. I'm going to go over that, tomorrow, when I do a final check of the rest of the house, and see what else I can find. I also took their pictures and I'm going to distribute then to the private security force. I don't have high hopes for that."

"Yeah," I said. "The people who work security in Sunnydale are those who couldn't make it into the police department. You still want me there?"

"Eyes only, but yes," he said. "There has to be someone there I can trust."

"I'll be there."

I went into the bathroom and got in the bathtub for a good long soak.

Eventually, I'm not sure when, I got out and went to bed.

And tried to sleep. 


	68. Two Outs, Bottom of the Eighth

Author's Note: Another exemption from parodying Buffy episode titles,

And yes, this does mean we're closer to the end than to the beginning, but I'm still not sure how much longer the story's going to be.

I know what the ending line is going to be, and the climactic scene, and have a general idea of how I'm getting there but not quite the exact road yet.

X X X X X

And tried.

And tried.

And yes, I know trying to sleep is almost a guarantee of never being able to fall asleep, but I couldn't do a whole hell of a lot about it right then. We didn't have any sleeping pills (which normally I wouldn't think of using, but these circumstances? Far beyond normal.); at that point I would have settled for chloroform, but we didn't have any of that, either.

I knew Buffy was out there keeping an eye on me, which is what was keeping me from running screaming into the streets, and please take that metaphorically, because I know that running into vampire-infested streets equals a bad thing. It wasn't helping me sleep, the way I wanted it to. The warm bath didn't, the crying I did while I was in the tub didn't; right now it would probably take a prescription sleeping pill, and even then? Not so sure.

So I turned my light on and found a book to read. I didn't have a lot of mindless entertainment around (I've never been big on mindless anything), but eventually I found an Agatha Christie novel -- a Poirot mystery, _Cards on the Table _-- which wasn't mindless but at least had nothing to do with the current situation.

I didn't finish the book; the last thing I remember, I was somewhere on page 80. (Not as impressive as it sounds; I read quickly. Still, that's not ten minutes' work, either.)

I know I didn't, because that night, when all I needed was a good night's sleep, I got a visit from the Adversary.

We were sitting in the outside dining area at Neptune High. Nope, no symbolism there, no sirree. "What the hell do you want?" I snapped. "Tonight, of all nights, I finally fall asleep, and now you decide to pay one of your visits?"

"I come when it's convenient for me, not you," he said. "Still, I don't want to interfere any more than I am right now, so once we're done I'll make sure you stay asleep until you would have woken up anyway."

"People don't remember dreams they don't wake up during," I said.

"This isn't an ordinary dream. Really, Miss Mars."

I sighed. "Okay. I appreciate that, then. So. What do you need today? I've avoided interfering with Aaron Echolls – I assume that was what you meant."

"That was what your friend Lilly meant," he said. "I was simply making sure you understood her."

"So is that Lilly?"

"I believe so," he said.

"You believe?"

"I'm not omnipotent or omniscient. I may be the closest you'll ever see, but there are things hidden even from me. I didn't know of your nonpredictability until that insane vampire told you about it." He took a drink of soda. Note: Diet Pepsi. The Official Soft Drink of Near-Omnipotent Beings. Then he said, "In any event, that's not why you're here."

Note: On those occasions we met 'in public' in the dreams, he always behaved appropriately for the scene. I have no idea why.

Also, I describe him as 'he' because he always appeared male. He didn't always look the same; everything varied, skin tone, hair color, height, weight, looks. But always male. No, I have no idea why. If you ever meet him, and I wouldn't wish that on Don Lamb, ask him.

"Really?" No, I know smarting off to a being with the ability to kill or resurrect with a thought might not have been the wisest thing I'd ever done, but honestly, at this point, I didn't care all that much any more.

He ignored the sarcasm. "Yes. Really. Do you follow sports, Miss Mars?"

"Not the biggest fan. Mild rooting interest in the Padres. Why?"

He said, "Okay. I can work with baseball. You're the home team."

"Okay. . . " I said, not sure where the Adversary was going.

"And this bet between us is a baseball game."

"Okay."

"There are now two outs in the bottom of the eighth inning."

That meant the bet was almost over. "You're saying it's almost decision time?"

"It is," he said. "It's not going to happen in the next five seconds, but it's not that far off, either."

"Will I make it to Christmas?" I asked. He gave me an unreadable look and ate a french fry. "I need to know if I need to go Christmas shopping."

The look was no longer unreadable. "Knock it off, Miss Mars," he said. "This is serious."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You don't need to tell me that. I know how damn serious it is, and that's not even counting our wager. One of the few bits of relief I get comes when I make sarcastic remarks, and that barely lasts longer than the remark. So if you wanted to make a bet with someone serious, someone who wouldn't have wised off to all and sundry, you should have picked Katherine Janeway. Or Margaret Houlihan. People who have some concept of respect for authority figures. Not me."

He chuckled. "I suppose you're right about that." Then his face grew grave again. "Still. This is your only warning. The race is in the last twenty laps. There are six minutes to go in the fourth quarter. We're in the middle of the thirteenth round."

"And down the stretch they come," I said. "I think I got the metaphor, but thanks for spelling it out, just in case."

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"The mercy rule is not in play." Of course not. He would have nothing remotely to do with anything close to the concept of "mercy." "But if it were," he continued, "Nothing that's happened would have caused me to invoke it."

I hated to say it, but: "I don't know what the mercy rule is."

"Ask someone," he said. "And with that –"

The next thing I knew, I was waking up from another dream – an anxiety-ridden one, whose contents are none of your damn business – and it was 7:12 AM. _Cards on the Table_ was on the floor.

Around five hours of sleep. More than I thought I was going to get, if much less than I needed.

I remembered the dream. Of course. Because otherwise I couldn't have just described it.

The bet was coming to an end.

Oddly, that took a bit of the weight off of my shoulders. Not all of it, but enough so that I felt I could get through the day without either murdering anyone or running and not stopping till I got to Kern county.

Still, it wasn't over yet.

We'd see what that meant, when.

For the moment, I had to live my life and keep doing my best to improve the future.

Deranged vampiress or no deranged vampiress, I still had things to do.

Opening my eyes again, I turned and saw one of them, perhaps the most important.

And he was wagging his tail and holding his leash.

It actually made me smile for a second.

With a loyal, loving dog, no place is hell, no matter how close the resemblance.

X X X X X

I managed to get Backup and me out of the apartment without waking Dad up, and we went for a walk.

We being me, Backup, and Buffy, who stepped out to greet me after I got out of the apartment complex's parking lot. "Hi," I said. "Trot and talk?" Backup sat and let Buffy scratch him behind the ears while we talked. Like I said, he's an excellent judge of character.

"Trot?"

"I can't run as fast as you and Backup can," I said. "If we want to talk, the best I can make is a trot."

She nodded. "Good enough," and we were on our way.

The sun was up, so I wasn't worried about Drusilla – at least, not worried about her jumping and 'protecting' me from the big bad Slayer.

"First, did you stay out all night?"

Buffy said, "After you left the library, I went home and took a quick nap – maybe an hour and a half. I've been here since around midnight, though."

"Thank you," I said.

"For a fellow SOB? Anything," she said. "I wasn't alone, for part of the night, either."

I knew who. "Sheila."

"Yup. Joined me around 1:30 AM and asked if I'd seen anything. I think she hoped I hadn't, so she could be there if Drusilla rolled around."

"She's not up for it," I said. Backup barked and a nearby squirrel darted up a tree.

"I don't think she wants to hear that," Buffy said. "Or that she cares, if she knows. She really doesn't like the concept of anything happening to you."

"Something she and I have in common," I said.

"I was finally able to get her to go home by promising to call her if Drusilla showed up."

"You were lying, I hope."

She gave me a don't-be-stupid look. "Of course. She's good – she gave me a demonstration. She could probably take on a normal vampire by herself. She's not a half-bad fighter, either. None of which makes her anywhere close to a match for Drusilla. Being pissed off doesn't really help a whole hell of a lot in a fight like that."

"Thanks. So, did you find anything last night?" I asked.

"Well, I killed a couple of vampires who were wandering by, and chased off a demon with burglar tools who seemed interested in the place next door," she said as we turned a corner.

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Anything related to the crazy lady?" I asked.

"No. Maybe she figured she'd done a good enough job protecting you by killing those ten people." She snorted. "Of course, the morning paper says it was two."

"Two?" Of course, this was the "Monsters Definitely Not Involved" Sunnydale Press, which was pretty much the polar opposite of the weekly World News, even if they did share the same commitment to printing the truth.

"There's already enough focus on Sunnydale because of Ted and Dad getting Abel Koontz freed," Buffy said. "I guess they figured a double homicide would bring less negative pub than a – tenple one.'

"Decaple?" I said. "I think. Anyway, they're probably right, but still. That's eight people whose deaths are being swept under the rug. Who're the two people officially killed?"

"Jenna Brownley and Amy Madison." Jenna was a wannabe Cordette. Apparently she was a wannablessedbe as well. Who knew? I didn't remember seeing her last night, but I wasn't really paying too close attention to people's faces after the first ten seconds or so. "Everyone else is being brushed off. Maybe they were from out of town."

"Some probably were," I said. "Some'll probably be listed as having keeled over of heart attacks, or hit by cars. I didn't recognize anyone but Amy."

"We knew she was a customer," Buffy said. "We knew that his customers probably wouldn't be happy being cut off."

We were in a park, now. Buffy and I sat down; I had one of those extendable leashes, so Backup had about fifty feet to play with, and with him I didn't need to worry that he'd see a squirrel and chase it to a tree two hundred feet away, dragging me with him (and he could, too); he had too much discipline for that.

"Yes, we did," I said. "So?"

"So we should have anticipated something like this," she said.

"Probably," I admitted as Backup rolled over on the grass. "Should we have anticipated them trying to murder me in the middle of the street less than three hours after we got done negotiating with Rack?"

"Well, we didn't, and you almost died, and ten other people did," Buffy said.

"I know. Problem is, I don't see how that was going to end well even if the entire gang had been walking with me. I'm the only one who's immune to magic."

Yes, I get the irony. Buffy's trying to take the guilt and I'm arguing her out of it by saying it's something A, we couldn't have anticipated, and B, it wasn't going to end with everyone happy and alive anyway.

All this knowing that it pretty much is my fault, simply because I'm here, and I wasn't supposed to be.

Well, hell, why should they suffer? I'm a big believer in contributory negligence – if a drunk driver kills a jaywalker, it's partly the jaywalker's fault. But truth be told, even if we kick out that it's my presence here that did cause all of this, it's not really something Buffy and company bear all that much responsibility for.

"Well, if that, then Drusilla might not have started killing everyone."

"Or maybe she would have and more people would be dead. She doesn't want me hurt. Everyone else, I'm not so sure of. Anyway: The ten people who attacked me are more at fault than you guys, and Drusilla sure as hell is."

"Yeah," Buffy said. "I think I might need to do something about that."

And here was another potential fork in the road, the road being canon, of course. There was pretty much nothing I could do to stop Buffy from heading down the "kill Drusilla" road, and I wasn't so sure I wanted to.

I'd been thinking all along that the test, the ultimate decision, would be whether I let Angel lose his soul. Now, particularly with the dream last night, I didn't think I was even going to get there.

I might not even make it to Bad Eggs before the bet ended.

All I could do in the meantime was the best I could. While I would think about whether I wanted Spike and Drusilla dead, anything I said remotely opposing it would be the height of suspicious. I wasn't omniscient, or even close; I might be able to logically predict what might happen if, in the short term, but there were too many factors for the long term. All I could say, beyond what wouldn't happen in the second season if Spike and Drusilla were killed, was that things would change, and probably beyond all recognition by the time seasons 4 and beyond rolled around.

I may have had some variations on these thoughts recently. If so, I apologize. I've been kind of emotionally strained for the last week or so and I'm pretty sure I'm nowhere near my most coherent.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I said. "And why not take out the blond guy -- what was his name --"

"Spike," Buffy said. I knew, of course, but I hadn't heard it nearly as much as Drusilla.

"Right. Spike. If he's willing to go through all that trouble for that ritual, then I imagine he might be somewhat less than thrilled if were to kill the love of his unlife." Backup was done romping and pooping and was back to sitting at my feet.

"That's a definite 'No shit, Sherlock,'" Buffy said. "Any plan we come up with to kill her is going to kill him too."

"My advice?" I said, standing up. "Overkill. Don't take a chance. Take out the entire block if you have to."

"I don't think Slayers are allowed to use nuclear weapons," Buffy commented as Buffy commented as we started to head home, this time at a walk.

"A regular bomb will do just fine," I said.

Okay, apparently I'd made my decision.

X X X X X

Once we got back, Buffy took off, headed home to sleep till noon; Dad was already awake and making breakfast.

After eating, I called Logan as early as I could to call off the 'study group,' but he said he'd been about to call me.

"Have to plan all of our spontaneous and witty dialogue, Mars," he said.

"Knowing your dad, I'm surprised he hasn't hired scriptwriters."

"Don't give him any ideas," he said. "Anyway, I won't be expected to be there long; just 'for appearances' and when Dad's 'special Christmas surprise' comes. Beyond that, I'm setting up a poker game. Me, Duncan, a few others. You're welcome to join."

"Thanks. I may take you up on that."

Some things didn't change.

This was good.

Until the evening, though, I had to pick up my car, and that was all I was going to do until then.

To pick up on the sports metaphors the Adversary'd used in last night's dream:

I was calling a time out. 


	69. Above You

Disclaimer: Viola Kerrigan is the name I gave the server in my other major Veronica Mars story. Far as I know, she never had one in continuity.

Also: This is another episode off, for Veronica. I start in on An Echolls Family Christmas next chapter.

X X X X X

Of course, the time out metaphor fails once you realize that during an actual sports time out what everyone does is hash out what they're going to do next in the actual game, and were I to do things that way that I'd be spending the day thinking about my next move, which was the exact opposite of what I actually planned, which was nothing.

Of course, this is Veronica Mars here; I'll almost certainly ponder my next move no matter how hard I try to do otherwise, because that's who I am. But it's not going to be a conscious, major goal. If it happens, it happens.

Of course, even after Buffy left I received phone calls: from Willow, from Sheila -- asking how I was doing. I wasn't up for a long conversation with Willow, but I appreciated the effort and asked her in turn to let Giles know that I was okay -- not great, but okay.

Sheila, and yes I know I don't do this a whole hell of a lot, Sheila I wanted to hang out with for a few hours if I could. She was up for it, so we went out for lunch and then hit Sunnydale's only non-magic-based used bookstore, and browsed for a couple of hours.

remembering that Sheila's preference is for long books – and remembering why – I almost pointed her in the direction of a Remembrance of Things Past I ran across, but then, none of Sheila's books were both long and hard to read, and Proust, or at least his translator, had nothing on Isaac Asimov in terms of sheer readability.

I did pick out what looked like a humorous reference book called _An Incomplete Education_ for her; liking that, she also picked up two thick paperbacks of what looked like alternate history stories.

As for me, I just went through almost everything. I might not be quite the polymath that Willow Rosenberg is, or read for pleasure quite as often, but I've done plenty of it in my life. I picked up an Agatha Christie omnibus for myself – all the Hercule Poirot short stories in one volume.

This did take up a few hours; Buffy called once as well, and practically backed off in horror when she realized I was in a bookstore. No, Buffy wasn't stupid, not even close. But Buffy would never really be the kind of person to get pleasure out of just reading a book.

Still, she was glad I was okay and taking a day off from thinking.

Which I'd managed to successfully pull off, for the most part.

Yes, I'd done some thinking about the immediate future, beyond tonight. If anything about this Aaron Echolls Christmas party matched the one from my original timeline, one of the waitresses would confront Aaron and stab him. If I saw it, I wasn't so sure I would stop her.

Of course, enough about this didn't match: Aaron had asked for Dad's help instead of Lynn; Xander was involved, at least tangentially (though Dad seemed reasonably sure he had nothing o do with either the nasty notes or murdering Lilly); and Aaron had had the good sense to invite Dad (and by extension me) to the party to be an extra pair of eyes, instead of relying on the local security. Of course, like I've said, Aaron Echolls isn't stupid, and he almost certainly knows how incompetent Sunnydale security guards are anyway. Dad's probably smarter and more capable than all of them put together.

So I had what I was going to do there more or less set, in my head.

As for the rest? Still didn't know. I certainly wasn't going to be able to manipulate Buffy or any of her friends into staying away from Drusilla, whether as myself or as Epimetheus.

That might work on Drusilla, but the problem with trying to manipulate Drusilla is that there is pretty much no one, ever, less apt to being set in a certain direction and then going reliably in that direction. Let me set the picture. Drusilla comes to a four way stop sign. To the left, there's "Helpless Humans Full of Nummy Blood." Straight ahead, there's "Slayer Waiting to Ambush you." To the right is "Portal to the Heart of the Sun." And pointing the way she came is "Certain Death."

Not only could you not predict that Drusilla would go left, you couldn't guarantee she'd go anywhere. She might just as well decide to stand there for hours. Or knock the sign down.

Spike, well, he'd be easier to manipulate, but who wouldn't? And even that would be dangerous. Spike might be sane, but even he was certainly capable of a random act of anarchy. (And yes, there's planned anarchy; for further details, please contact Ethan Rayne, who for a dedicated servant of chaos certainly was a meticulous planner.)

Still, should I choose to go the (admittedly somewhat foolish) route of trying to avoid an immediate confrontation by maneuvering the vampires out of the way rather than Buffy and company, Spike would be the one I'd work on.

For me, every signpost on the four-way intersection read "Who the hell knows," and the way behind me was blocked off (and steamrollers were coming up fast, so I couldn't just stand there, either.)

Amy, well, her death was already an established fact of life in this particular iteration of the Buffyverse. That made it easier to deal with, not harder, because her influence wouldn't be felt until _Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered_ rolled around, and I didn't think I was going to make it that far anyway.

What I mostly thought about was the books in front of me. It can be a bitch and a half to distract yourself, especially, since you know what you're doing, but at least sporadically I was able to pull it off.

I did not have the feeling I was being watched at any point. Yes, I know it was daytime, but still, I wouldn't put it past an obsessed Drusilla to try to figure out some way of 'protecting' me even now. But this store didn't have a basement and didn't connect with any dark alleys, so I think I was safe from prying eyes.

Whatever time we spent not actively discussing the books we'd found/were thinking of buying was spent on Sheila discussing what she was going to Drusilla the next time she saw her and me trying to convince her that it was dumb of her to try and that I'd hate her forever if she got herself killed.

Well, that and trying to figure out the Adversary's mercy rule reference (No, I wasn't dumb enough to call it that to anyone's face; the bet's not over yet, you'll notice). Buffy hadn't known, Sheila didn't, and I hadn't thought to ask Dad or Logan. I hadn't asked Willow, but I wouldn't have expected her to know; one of the few things she'd never struck me as knowing all that much about was sports.

Anyway, that was definitely secondary to the argument over Drusilla. "'sdown to it, manhunter, she hurt you and I want to hurt you, and you can't stop me."

"From wanting to? No. From actually doing it? I'm hoping to. Believe me, considering that I'm used to people having the attitude of 'Veronica Mars' bleeding body? Let's kick it out of the way so we don't trip over it,' having anyone around who's not my Dad whose first reaction is to hurt the person who hurt me? Very much appreciated, believe me. And if this were someone at school – one of the Cordettes, or their male counterparts, or, hell, anyone except Buffy, I'd stand back and tell you to go to town. But this? This is dangerous. I don't know how many times I need to spell it out, or how many people need to."

"I want to do something," she hissed.

"Trust me. You already are. And last night you told me you didn't know what you'd do if something happened to me. Consider that I feel the same way, okay?"

For a second, just a second, the trademark Sheila Kelly evil grin returned. "You getting sentimental on me, manhunter?"

"Absolutely. And that should tell you something."

"It does," she said, putting the book she was looking at back on the shelf. "Okay. I won't hunt her down. But if I run across her, bets're off."

I held up a hand, and she said, "Best you're going to get, manhunter."

I wasn't sure it was enough, but I was pretty sure Sheila was telling the truth.

It would do for now.

X X X X X

We spent a couple of more hours in the afternoon with Sheila practicing her magic. She was trying to master yet another spell, in addition to witchfire, darkness, aim at the target, focus, and phantom punch.

This one was the first one she did that required material components, but they were fairly cheap material components. "Good thing," Sheila said. "'fit needs diamond dust, I'm screwed."

"If you need to do a spell to stop an apocalypse, I think we'll find a way around that," I said. "What're you going to do?"

"You'll see," she said.

"So it's not invisibility. Good to know."

"Too complicated for me," she said. "Might try inaudibility, though."

"What about unsmellability?"

"Already do that one. 'scalled Secret."

We'd driven out to the industrial park, not far from where Rack's place had been. Wasn't there now, though, at least not so far as Sheila could tell. Nor were a lot of other people, it being the weekend. Maybe a dozen cars in one complex, none at all in the one we were going to.

"If this is going to end in a big pile of rubble, I'd just as soon know that now so I can leave without seeing it," I said. I was only half-kidding. Sheila had always said she preferred the physical side of magic, and I really believe that at some point she was going to try to knock a building down. I just hoped that wasn't now, because what I really didn't need right now was an insurance company after me for millions of dollars in property damage.

The Sheila grin came out again. "Naah. 'fI'm gonna demolish a building, manhunter, 'sgonna be one that needs it. This place's ugly, but it's intact. Not going to hurt so much as a brick."

There was a camera in front, so that we parked there wasn't going to be a secret, but there was a wooded area beyond, so if anyone asked, we parked here so we could go for a walk in the woods. Because you know me, Veronica Mars, nature lover. (Note: Sarcasm. Remember, I'm anti-shrub.)

Still, even the most city-loving gal can want to look at some pretty trees every once in a while, so it wasn't ridiculous, at least.

The only cameras were the ones at the front of the building, and straight down on the fire exits, but we weren't going anywhere near those doors. The building had the kind of windows used in modern office complexes: in other words, Buffy would have trouble getting them open, never mind two 'ordinary girls' like Sheila and myself.

So if Sheila wasn't looking to be destructive, and we were not in fact going trolling for mule deer, what were we doing here?

I found out in short order. Sheila took a couple of things that looked like pipe cleaners out of the pouch she'd bought from the magic store, handed me the pouch, and asked me to take a step back.

First, she took of her shoes. Then she said, in what sounded like Italian, "Come un ragno. Come un ragno," and immediately walked to the side of the building.

And didn't stop once she got there.

By the time she was grinning down at me, she had climbed up at least ten feet. "'drather go through," she said. "But if I can't do that, I can at least go over."

"Neat trick!" I called up. "Can you shoot webs?"

"You kidding?" she said. "You know what I'd have to take off to do that?"

"Let's test this," I said. "Come down."

"I ain't trying to shoot webs out of my ass, manhunter," she said, but she did come down, and we climbed the hill beyond the building and she proceeded to climb a tree at the edge of the nearby woods in the same fashion.

It wore off as she was descending, though she managed not to fall. "'sabout five minutes," she said. "Good enough."

"What do you call this one?" Sheila, a la Dungeons & Dragons, named all of her spells.

"Spider climb," she said.

"Good name," I said, and then checked my watch. "Anyway --"

"Yeah," she said. "You gotta go get ready for the Christmas party."

"You got stuff to do?" I said. "That doesn't involve you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Hey, I promised," she said. "I'm not going to lie to you, Veronica."

"All I need to hear," I said.

X X X X X

I got back with plenty of time to shower and change my clothes.

My day off had helped me, some. Enough that I could handle the Echolls Family Christmas, anyway.

"I've got good news, better news, and bad news," Dad said as I walked in, He was dressed in his best suit, with his holster strapped under his suit jacket.

"We just won the Irish Sweepstakes but we have to move to Ireland to collect."

"No," he said. "And what do you have against Ireland?" The voice was teasing; Dad really was in a good mood.

"Nothing; I just don't want to move there on the spur of the moment. Or anywhere, really. So if that's not it, then what?"

"The good news is I was able to determine which woman's going to try to kill Aaron Echolls tonight."

"The better news is you were able to find her a hiding place from which to get the best shot?"

"Sweetie --" Dad said in a mild warning tone.

"But the bad news is that you have to tell Aaron."

"Am I ever going to tell you something and not have you not give me a smartass comment in response?"

"How long have you known me?" The glare remained steady. "Okay. What have you got?"

"The better news is I found proof of Aaron Echolls' do-it-yourself porn studio in his poolhouse, and a couple of drawers full of tapes. I took photos of the setup, but none of the tapes. Only one appears to be missing." The Echolls poolhouse was still the Echolls poolhouse. Unfortunately.

"The one I showed you. The one with Lilly."

"Exactly," he said. "And it doesn't look like he's slowed down all that much, either."

"Are you going to confront him?"

"No. I have a plan there, though it'll have to wait until after tonight. And that's the bad news."

I could tell. "It's the woman you didn't meet."

"Exactly. And she wouldn't answer her phone today, either. Her name is Viola Kerrigan. Aaron doesn't remember her. All I know is that she has dark hair and is in her '20s."

I knew one more thing: Viola Kerrigan was the name of the woman in the original timeline. So if that held, she'd be disguising herself as a waitress.

So I could figure out a way to let Dad know this. Not let Aaron get stabbed, like he did the first time around.

Is it wrong of me that I'm not going to?


	70. Dread Man's Party

Author's Note: This is mostly a _Veronica Mars_-universe chapter. Not entirely. But most of it is. It is based on the VM episode _An Echolls Family Christmas_, though not rigidly.

X X X X X

Or, at least, that I'm going to think about not going to?

On the way over to the Echolls, I remembered to ask dad what the mercy rule was.

"It's a rule usually used in junior league sports," Dad said. "If your Little League team is beating the other one by ten or more runs, say, at a certain point in the game, the game ends early. They don't have it college and up. Why?"

"It just came up in a conversation and I didn't think to ask at the time. Thanks."

"Anytime, sweetie," Dad said.

Interesting. What the Adversary had been trying to tell me during the dream was that whoever was winning the bet wasn't by a large enough margin that there was no point in continuing.

Of course, this being the bottom of the eighth, that didn't necessarily mean I wasn't losing by six runs. (I suppose it was also possible I was up by six runs, which kind of killed the sports metaphor anyway. Who plays a baseball game without being able to see the scoreboard?)

And that was the last real thinking I did about my overall situation for a while.

For the night, though? Not done at all.

I was still hashing out whether I should let Dad know about the possibility that the stalker might come in as one of the catering company's servers. If the victim were anyone else, and I mean anyone up to and including Don Lamb, who as I've said I don't actively wish dead no matter what he's done to me in the past, I wouldn't hesitate. (Well, okay. I'd hesitate on Lamb. But for maybe five minutes while Evil Veronica came out to gleefully contemplate his death. But then Evil Veronica would be sent back inside while good Veronica reluctantly came out to do her duty.)

But Aaron Echolls has hurt me worse than anyone else. And yes, that includes Cassidy Casablancas, that includes Warren Mears, that includes Mom, that even includes Drusilla.

Not to get too heavily into self-pity – because if I did, I'd probably curl up into the fetal position and whimper until the Adversary decided I'd lost the bet – but when you're 16 and the list of people who've hurt you, badly, has a top five, you've had a fairly rough go of it. I say this not to evoke pity from you, or puff myself up by saying how much adversity I've overcome. I say this just to note and log it, and move on.

So, moving on: My personal reasons should be pretty obvious. Balanced against that, ethically at least, were two things: One, it was simply wrong to let Aaron get stabbed, no matter what he'd done. And two, it would make Dad look bad that he'd been hired to prevent this, and failed.

The latter weighed a lot more heavily, to me, than the former.

Heavily enough? Not by itself, unless Dad completely blew it and let Aaron die, which I seriously doubted he would do. Keith Mars is too good for that.

And then we got beyond ethics, to the 'friendly warning' given by Lilly and the Adversary to lay off trying to help Dad prove that Aaron Echolls killed Lilly.

Did this qualify as that, though? I wasn't sure, but I didn't think so. I hadn't done anything with this case except a little research for Dad tracking down possible suspects. I couldn't help it if I ran into something –

Ah. "If I ran into something." That sounds like an excuse to go snooping. I knew me, and even with the ironest of wills to avoid snooping, I could snoop. It's what I do, more or less. It would be damn near a heroic effort to stop myself, yet I had to.

I could still hope that the winds of fate would blow my way and let some juicy piece of evidence fall into my lap, but fate had smiled on me once already this week, so I was over my quota.

Still, generally speaking, I don't think this fell under Lilly's warning, as long as I was careful about it.

That left one major reason to prevent the stabbing of Aaron Echolls, and it had nothing to do with Aaron Echolls himself.

It had to do with Lynn Echolls.

In the original timeline, when Viola Kerrigan had stabbed Aaron – with Dad getting there just in time to prevent something worse – it had made blatantly public Aaron Echolls' long history of cheating, in front of too many people to cover it up. Admittedly, the cover-up machine of Neptune was run by rank amateurs compared to the one in Sunnydale, but this, with hundreds of people in the immediate vicinity? Too much for even Mayor Wilkins, Don Lamb, and the trained seals comprising the Sunnydale Sheriff's Department to handle, and in any event, it wasn't supernatural-related –

At least, I hoped not. That hadn't even occurred to me, but in the Buffyverse, where magical things lurked around every corner if you were paying attention, Aaron had to have slept with a half-demon or two along the way, ones who might be willing to bring magical abilities into play to get back at him. Considering that Viola Kerrigan appeared to be a holdover from my world, I doubted it, but it was another headache.

Ah well. Add it to the pile.

Anyway, once the publicity had hit, Aaron Echolls' major concern, as always, was his own image, and his family's job was to damn well support the image of him being a good family man, no matter what they wanted to do, otherwise.

I don't know all the details. Neither Logan nor Trina told me – Aaron sure as hell didn't – and I wasn't going to ask. Trina wouldn't have known – she was as self-absorbed as self-absorbed gets, even if she lacked her father's malicious streak – and Logan, in the immediate aftermath, was so convinced his mother had faked her death that he wasn't exactly a reliable witness for what he did tell me.

Still, it isn't hard to imagine: Lynn's just gotten publicly humiliated by her husband's acts – the man who is supposed to love her above all others – and instead of reassuring her, his main concern is to protect his career prospects. And finally, she has enough and she throws herself off the Coronado Bridge.

And that was a powerful argument in favor of cluing Dad in. I couldn't tell him directly, but I could at least tell him to double-check the servers for anyone who even remotely resembled Viola Kerrigan.

Damn it.

I was going to either have to completely save him – for Lynn Echolls' sake – or make sure she got off enough swipes with her blade to kill him. A dead Aaron Echolls wouldn't care about his reputation and wouldn't be able to fend off suggestions of being a murderer, either.

Decisions, decisions.

So let's go for the one that's easier on my Dad. "Dad –" I said right before we pulled up.

"Yes?"

"Did you check everyone on the guest list?"

"Yes. Twice. Aaron admitted to liaisons with two of them." Which meant he'd actually slept with a half dozen, and the only three women there who were guaranteed not to be one of his many conquests, for various reasons, were me, Cordelia, and Celeste Kane. (Jake was under indictment for obstruction of justice, but he would still be here.)

I was too independent-minded for Aaron; Cordelia had too much class (yes, really); and Aaron would have beneath Celeste.

Still -- "Really? He admitted to it?"

"He seems to think there's such a thing as PI-client privilege. I have no idea where he got that notion, of course."

"Of course you don't," I said. "Okay, you checked the guest list. How about the staff?"

"All of Aaron's servants except the butler have the night off," Dad said. "And it's not the butler. Despite what decades of mystery writers have told you."

"So the caterers are dropping off the food and Aaron's bringing it in himself?"

He nodded, saying, "I looked over the company -- they're legit -- and the staff list, but Viola Kerrigan wouldn't be silly enough to use her real name, would she? I'll look them over."

"You hadn't thought of that?"

"Not all the way through," he said as we got out of the car. "You roam. I'll go over the catering staff. If you think you see her, don't confront her."

"I won't," I said. "I mean, dark hair and in her 20's could probably describe a lot of people there, up to and including Cordelia Chase." Thanks to Charisma Carpenter being about ten years older than the character she was playing, of course.

"At least I'll know it's not her," Dad said.

"Ah, go on. Drag off her and question her anyway."

Dad asked, "And if I'm tormenting Miss Chase and Viola Kerrigan stabs Aaron?" We were walking towards the house.

"Win-win?" I asked hopefully.

"No," he said firmly.

"Ruin a little girl's dreams," I said.

"That's what Daddies do. Lynn!"

Lynn Echolls came out to greet us with a big smile. "Keith. Veronica. Glad to see you." No other guests had arrived yet; the caterers were setting up. Logan gave me a sardonic wave from inside the house and gestured towards the poolhouse. I shook my head and held up my finger -- no, not that one -- to indicate it would be a bit.

Another nod and Logan turned back towards the rear of the house.

"Good to see you too, Lynn," Dad said. "I hope you don't mind us getting here a little early --"

"You're trying to save my husband from a madwoman," Lynn said. "Of course I don't mind."

"Where are the caterers?" Dad asked.

"Is this a business-related question or are you hungry?"

"Business-related. I'd like to see if maybe it could be one of their staff."

"Oh, Keith, we've been using Giacomo's for years," Lynn said. "I trust them."

"I'm sure you do," Dad said.

"But you don't."

"It's my job."

Lynn said, "Of course it is. And you wouldn't be doing it if you weren't checking everyone in the building."

"Thank you for understanding," Dad said.

"They're in the kitchen, some of them, and most of the rest are in the dining room."

"Thanks, Lynn."

"Anything else you need, let me know."

As she walked away, Dad turned to look at me. "I'll go check out the ones in the kitchen and dining room. You go ahead to see if you see any anywhere else, and if they match the description, let me know. Don't do anything."

"Confronting crazy murderers? Not on the agenda for today." I did enough of that last night, thanks to Drusilla, and please note, I knew it was possible she might be around tonight and was hoping like hell she'd found something else to do. "I see anyone, I'll keep right on going and find you."

And saying that, I first wandered around the outside of the mansion -- there were a couple of the catering staff still unloading supplies from a delivery van, but one was a man, and the other was what looked to be a natural redhead in her late '30s. I tried and failed to remember what Viola Kerrigan looked like, but I doubted this woman was her unless in addition to a convincing dye job she'd put on at least ten years and about forty pounds.

I did hear an interesting snippet of conversation.

"Tony," the woman said sternly. "Where are Nancy and the other van?"

"That genius cook you hired forgot the cans of sterno," he said. "So she --"

I lost track of the conversation after that, because my target clearly wasn't there; there was no one inside the van, for instance. But Nancy could certainly be Viola; don't think I hadn't caught the possible Kerrigan connection.

Still, this wasn't a mystery novel where such clever associations were common and almost guaranteed a connection; this was the real world. That didn't make it impossible, of course. I'd still tell Dad. If nothing else, it meant there was a catering employee not here we'd need to check into.

There were no other catering employees outside as I made my way around the mansion; I was about to go in through the back doors when a voice behind me said, "Veronica?"

I turned around. "Hello, Duncan," I said. "What are you doing here?"

He took the question the way it was intended: Curiosity. "Mostly," he said, "I'm here because of Logan's poker game. You?"

"Helping my Dad with some security matters," he said. "Aaron Echolls wanted someone to double-check things -- a lot of the Sunnydale elite are going to be here tonight."

"True," he said. "Good move on his part." He drew in a deep breath. "Veronica, look. I've been acting like a really big ass for the last few days."

"Yes, you have," I said.

He seemed a little upset. "I'm trying to apologize."

"And I appreciate it. Your apology, when it comes, will be accepted. But do you really want me to lie to you and say you haven't been assholish to me?"

Sighing, he said, "I suppose not. Look. Your Dad was doing his job. My Dad was trying to protect me, but that doesn't mean he should have tried to set up someone else. Something you might not know: I don't remember a lot of the time around Lilly's death. I have blackouts, occasionally."

I knew: Duncan had epilepsy. I didn't think I officially knew, though, not in this timeline. "And so your Dad assumed that you'd blacked out, killed your sister, and moved heaven and earth to deflect suspicion. You do realize that your father's efforts are what made my Dad suspicious in the first place, right? Yes, he was wrong. But."

"Yeah. But. I'm sorry, Veronica."

"Apology accepted," I said.

"You going to come in and play some poker with us?"

"In a few minutes, maybe. And as long as you're not starting with $1000 chips."

"We know how much you charge, Mars," came Logan's voice. "And it's obvious you don't spend it on clothes or makeup."

The tone was teasing; Logan had definitely moved off of psychotic jackassery. "No, I blow it all on expenses and daily living. But I wouldn't expect someone who can buy a Rolls out of petty cash to understand that."

Duncan nodded, and headed into the poolhouse. "You joining the game?"

"Off and on, if you'll have me," I said. "But I have to finish helping my Dad. I assume you know why we're actually here."

"Those threatening letters to my father," Logan said.

"Yeah. Well, I know you're not his biggest fan --"

"Understatement of the eon, Mars," he said. "I haven't quite reached the point of wanting him dead. Most of the time."

"Anyway, Dad and I know who the stalker is, just not what she looks like beyond mid-20's and dark hair."

"If I see anyone matching that description, I'll let you know." He nodded, "Until I can take your money, I bid you adieu."

I opened the back doors and went inside. This was the dining room; there was a bar set up at the far end. A couple of early-arriving guests were here, already. One member of the catering staff was dark-haired and in her '20s; she was tending the bar. I'd make a note of her to Dad, too, on the off chance he'd missed her.

A familiar voice near the bar said, "Give me a Coke."

I froze, then slowly took a couple of steps forward to identify the speaker. It couldn't be.

Of course it was.

Of course she'd be here. Where else would she be? Viola Kerrigan was, above all else, a scorned woman.

_And who looks out for scorned women in the Buffyverse?_

Three guesses.

The first two don't count.


	71. No Wish

Okay, I wasn't inventing new swearwords, but I was certainly giving the old ones a strenuous workout.

God damn it to hell. I take one afternoon off, and the universe decides to throw Anyanka at me.

Is that it, Adversary? Are you just piling on and piling on until I finally say uncle?

Because that is never going to happen. Ever.

Of course, it was entirely possible The Adversary had nothing to do with it. It could just be Veronica Mars' luck running its usual course.

Technically, I supposed I was a scorned woman -- Duncan had dumped me last year without bothering to explain why -- but no way was I going to try to wish my way out of this.

Reasons why?

1. Vengeance Demons tended to go by the letter, not the spirit, of the wish. I was smart, but even I wasn't sure about my ability to properly word a wish so as not to have it blow up in my face.

2. Any wish would have to be about vengeance on Duncan. That would not only make it a lot harder to word the wish, I didn't particularly want vengeance on him, anyway.

3. It probably wouldn't work anyway; I suspected my immunity to magic would prevent me from making or being directly affected by wishes, though if one created an alternate universe I would probably be swept up into it until I could figure out how to restore things. (That? The easy part. Destroy the necklace. Pulling it off? Harder. And you can read 'pulling it off' any way you want to, there. Giles was lucky that Anyanka was so overconfident during "The Wish." I might have the advantage of surprise, but that would be about it.)

Well, that was about the only advantage I had now, that and it didn't seem that anyone had made a wish yet.

Anyanka's existence long predated me being here, of course, and so I could tell people about her. There was no way I was going to try to take her on by myself unless I had no choice.

Unfortunately, almost no one who could help me was on the guest list. Giles, Buffy, etc., weren't getting in; Xander could probably brazen his way in -- he was good at that -- but staying unnoticed wasn't exactly one of his strong suits. Sheila was probably on the security guard lists to be shot on sight. And while Dad was on the guest list, I was trying to keep him supernatural-free for as long as humanly possible.

That left me two allies, neither of whom would be my first choices; but I really had no other options at this point.

Still, right now I needed to be sure Anyanka wasn't about to grant the bartender a wish. I walked up to the bar. "--there's no one who's ticked you off recently?"

"No," the bartender said irritably. "Now, if that's it --"

"Whatever," Anyanka said. As she turned to go, she looked at me, blinked, and said "Not you," to herself, and walked away.

Interesting, but at the moment -- I stepped up and said, "What was that about?"

The still annoyed bartender -- her name tag read "Ashley," but that didn't mean anything because neither Dad nor I were assuming Viola was dumb enough to sue her real name -- said, "Beats the hell out of me. She kept wanting to know if a man had scorned me recently and what I wanted to do about it. A, it's none of her business, B, I'm in a happy relationship, and C, it's with a woman. Weird chick. So, what can I get you?"

Well, unless she was lying to absolutely everyone, that scotched her as being Viola Kerrigan. "Ginger ale," I said, keeping half an eye on Anyanka as she wandered around the room.

"Coming right up," she said.

As I took my first sip, Dad came towards me in a decidedly bad mood.

"Want me to turn that frown upside down?" I said.

"I don't think you're strong enough," Dad said. "But what do you have?"

Anya, for the moment, seemed like she was staying in the room. Good. On the off chance reality shifted around me, I'd have to run up to her and rip the necklace off toot-sweet. "One, I don't think the bartender over there is Viola. Don't know if you caught her, but unless she's an actress to rival Streep, she's gay and in a committed relationship."

"I did," Dad said. "But I could ask for her license, and did. Still glad to have the backup."

"Okay," I said. "There were also a couple of catering company employees outside unloading a van and they mentioned another employee who was headed back to headquarters to pick up something. Name of Nancy. Neither of the two I saw was anywhere close, so it wasn't them."

"I'll check up on Nancy. Good going," he said.

"So what's got you so upset?"

"While Lynn was down here greeting guests and overseeing the final preparations, guess where Aaron was?"

"From the tone," I said, "I'd guess upstairs, not keeping it in his pants."

"Pretty much," Dad said. "And with one of the servers, no less. Not Viola Kerrigan unless she has a better phony ID than I can spot, but still, monumentally stupid."

"For him, maybe. For us?"

"I know. Still," and he said the next part very quietly, "I'd like him to be alive to stand trial."

"Yeah." I saw Aaron across the room. "I see you got him to zip it back up."

"I stood there until he did and the young woman was out of the room," Dad said. "He bitched and moaned but I did remind him that that what was what he was paying me for."

As long as he didn't give you five minutes to get out of the house and say he wasn't going to pay you, I'm good," I said. Anyanka, I noticed, was still making her way around the room. When she looked at Aaron, Aaron gave her a brief flirtatious grin, which she simply ignored. As she turned away, though, her own grin was broad enough that she could have stunt doubled the Joker.

As if I didn't already know, that pretty much clinched for me why she was here. Aaron Echolls was a fertile enough target I was surprised he didn't have a vengeance demon assigned to him full time.

Something Dad had just said struck me. Could it be that easy? "You're checking licenses?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

I pointed subtly to Anyanka. "Do you see that young woman over there? Short brown hair, red dress?"

Dad nodded. "Yes. Do you think she's Viola Kerrigan?"

"Maybe," I said, when it struck me that yes, she did more or less fit the vague description, given that Emma Caulfield wasn't a teenager either when she was cast for the first time. "But even if she's not, something about her seems suspicious. She was grilling the bartender about whether any man had, to get country on it, 'done her wrong,' and was apparently obnoxious about it."

"So she's not a sparkling conversationalist," Dad said. "That hardly seems like the standard to wangle an invitation."

"Gut feeling," I said. "Please check her out?"

Dad nodded. "Okay, sweetie. Gut's important. If she seems off to you, I'll see what I can find out."

"Thank you," I said. "Did everyone else check out?"

"I think so," Dad said. "I'm going to double-check to make sure I didn't miss anyone, but you've done what I needed you to do."

"Thanks. I'll keep my eyes out, of course." Even if Anyanka hadn't decided to put in an appearance now, the rest of the night would be something of a busman's holiday; as it was, any recreation I had was going to be theoretical.

The house was starting to fill up with guests, and the servers were beginning their job in earnest. As Dad tracked down Anyanka, I looked around. Logan and his friends were out in the poolhouse starting their poker game, and I might need help with the supernatural aspects, but that wasn't who I was searching out right now.

I'd been wrong, earlier. There was one other person here who could help me, who knew about the supernatural, even if she and I weren't exactly bosom chums.

Cordelia, of course.

And here she came now, pulling away from two adults who were apparently her parents. She moved towards a good-looking guy about our age I didn't recognize, and dangerous as it was to get between Cordelia Chase and a hot rich guy, I had no choice.

She did her best to run me over, of course, but I stopped her by saying, "This is business."

"I'm off the clock," she said. "And what mystery could you be solving right now? Unless it's the mystery of how to act around people who matter."

I leaned in and said, "Creature of the night business."

She got a pained look on her face, but followed me away from the crowd. "Okay, Veronica," she said. "What is it and why haven't you called Buffy?"

"I haven't called Buffy because for two reasons. One, my Dad's keeping a very sharp eye out for any unauthorized guests and he both knows her by sight and knows she isn't on the guest list. Two, I'm not sure we have as long as it would take for her to get here."

"How do you know about this?"

I took out my cell phone. "Has anyone told you about someone named Epimetheus?"

She thought for a second and said, "Yeah. Librarian-guy mentioned him –"

"Her –"

"Her at one point. Said she was jerking people around and he didn't know why." It hit her. "She called you?"

"Yes. She did. Don't sound so surprised. She called me once before when that group of assassins came to town. Helped Buffy with one of the assassins."

"That was that bug-person, right? Don't tell me there are any bug-people here this time. Because, you know, ick."

"No, no bug people," I said, repressing a sigh. "Just a vengeance demon." I gestured to where Dad was talking to Anya, who seemed anxious not to be talking to Dad. "See the girl talking with my father?"

"Yeah." After a second, "That's a demon?"

"Yes, and if you don't broadcast it to the room, maybe she and us'll be the only one who know it. Look. She's here to 'take vengeance' on behalf of a scorned woman." I wasn't going to spill what Dad's business here was, specifically, unless I had to.

Snorting, Cordelia said, "I'm not surprised, considering who the host is. You do know his reputation, right? He'll sleep with anything that moves?"

"Anything female, yeah. So no, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if there are more than a few women here he's pissed off." Anya started to walk off, and Dad stopped her.

"And we should stop this demon why? Seems to me if a few guys got this message there'd be a lot less cheating go on."

"You'd think, but she's been doing this for several hundred years now," I said. "How's that working out?"

"Huh."

"Anyway, their idea of vengeance isn't necessarily as neat as simply as killing the guy or cutting their penises off," I said, though I was reasonably sure Anyanka had done more than her share of those activities in her millennium-plus-length life. "There's a big possibility of collateral damage." Hell, if all she was going to do was kill Aaron, I might not try to stop her. But I couldn't even come close to counting on that.

So, Dad was my first line of defense, here. Me, Cordelia and, yes, probably Logan would be the second.

I had no third. First one to suggest Drusilla gets their fingers chopped off. One, I didn't know if Drusilla was watching me and hoped like hell she wasn't. Two, if she was, Anyanka wasn't a direct threat to me, and if I made her a visible, things would have long since gone to hell. Three, of course, is that Drusilla was only slightly less easy to predict than I was, and I had a universe backing me up.

Fourth, and most important, is that if Anyanka for some reason didn't opt out, if she decided to stick around and fight, this place would become a war zone. Neither Anyanka nor Drusilla, when they have their backs up, is any kind of respecter of people and property, and I'd really fucking like not to have any repeats of what happened last night, thank you. One mass murder scene per decade is about my limit.

I realized I might not have a choice in the matter, if Drusilla set her mind to it. But I would still do my best to avoid such a scenario.

In the meantime, Cordelia nodded. "Yeah. I get that. How can I help?"

"For the moment? Could you keep an eye on her?" Because Anyanka had finally taken what looked like a billfold from her pocket. Dad looked at it, down at a list in his hand, and said something, I couldn't make out what, with a look of exasperation on his face, and walked towards me. "And maybe interrupt anyone who looks like they're about to wish for something?"

"Okay," she said. "But you owe me a conversation with a hot guy."

"Fair enough," I said. As Cordelia walked away, Dad walked up. "So?"

"She had a legitimate invite and a photo ID that didn't look faked -- she's a student at UC-Sunnydale. Why she gave me such a hard time, I have no idea." Hmmm. Maybe vengeance demons had powers beyond what was explicitly seen on the show. Though it wasn't hard to imagine a fake ID being more or less de rigueur for vengeance demons posing as human, I do know that if Anya had had a driver's license it hadn't survived the loss of her necklace in the Wish. Sunnydale High didn't have picture ID's.

Still. "Seems suspicious."

"Yeah, it does, and if we were just here for the cocktails and the chilled shrimp I might try to figure it out. The most important thing, though, is that I'm reasonably certain she's not Viola Kerrigan."

"I suppose that'll do for the moment," I said. "I might keep half an eye on her, though."

"As long as it's only half," he said. "I'm going to go find out about our missing caterer. Excuse me." He headed off towards the kitchen.

Cordelia was following Anyanka, and not being particularly subtle about it; beggars, I suppose, can't be choosers.

I hustled out the back door towards the poolhouse. Opening the door, I found the game already in full bore, with everyone who was boozing thinking they were being clever by putting their drinks in soda bottles.

"Hey guys," I said. "Helpful hint. Sprite isn't a nice amber hue. Next time? Cans."

"Listen to the tiny blonde one," Logan said. "She knows whereof she speaks at least half the time." Noting the look of incipient outrage on my face, he added, "Which puts her well up on any of you losers." They snorted and sipped their "Sprites" while Logan asked me, "Come to lose your money?"

"Not quite yet," I said. "And just to let you know, I won't be losing anything. Logan. A word about things that go bump in the night?"

"Ah," he said. "Deal me out this hand, gentlemen. The tiny blonde one requires my advice, and really, who am I to say no?" He maintained the jovial, sardonic look on his face until we got outside. "What is it?" he asked seriously. "I know you wouldn't be bringing me into anything unless there was a serious problem."

I gave him a two-minute summary on Anyanka and what she was doing here. "You have Chase watching her?"

"It was a choice between her and no one," I said. "And she's not quite as bad as you might think."

"She couldn't be," Logan said. "Okay. Hold on." He leaned his head back into the poolhouse. "I'll be back in a bit, folks. Miss Mars requires my skills for longer than a couple of minutes."

Despite everything, it was a straight line I couldn't resist. I poked my head in too and said, "So you know what we won't be doing."

Raucous laughter followed us as we headed back towards the house. "So," he said. "What's the plan?"

I stopped before I got to the back door.

What was the plan?


	72. Done

Logan stopped short. "You don't have one?"

"Who do you think I am, MacGyver?" I said. "I've been a little distracted with trying to make sure Anyanka didn't make her wish right away to actually formulate something beyond 'wish bad.' I'm more or less making this up as I go along."

"What do you want me to do right now?" he said.

"Spell Cordelia."

"C-O-R-D-"

"Ha ha," I said. "Cordelia is better at this than you think, but she's not really all that subtle."

"I've been known to be fond of the sledgehammer myself, Mars," Logan said.

"True, that," I said; Logan had never smashed up my car, in this reality, but that was still an unpleasant memory. "But your styles are still different. I'll pry Cordelia loose. One thing. If you hear anyone in earshot say "I wish," interrupt somehow. Anything short of burning the building down."

"Aye aye, captain," he said.

We walked inside and I pointed out Anyanka; Cordelia was maybe ten feet away, now asking the vengeance demon where she got her hair done. Anyanka was looking as though she was willing to gnaw off her own arm to get away – or pick up Cordelia and throw her through the nearest wall – and was only restraining herself because that would bring the evening, and any chances of her getting someone to make a vengeance wish, to a sudden halt.

With Logan about ten feet behind me, I walked up to Cordelia and said, "Cordelia! Come over here, there's someone you have to meet!" Cordelia looked behind me, figured out what was going on, and said to Anyanka, "I'll catch up with you later."

The look on Anyanka's face was "Not if I have to jump out the window to get away." The look she gave me was one of confusion, but then she turned and moved to take an hors d'oeuvre from a server. Logan trailed after her.

As I walked away, Cordelia said, "It's not that hot guy you owe me, is it?"

"No," I said. "We're just tag-teaming her at the moment. And she looked like she was about five seconds from punching you in the face." After a second, I added, "Still, you did what you were asked to do, assuming no one made any wishes."

"No one else even had the chance to talk to her," Cordelia said. Dad came out of the kitchen and headed out the back door, possibly to walk around to the house to the service entrance.

"Good enough, then," I said as we walked back towards the bar. "Now all we have to do is figure out what to do next."

It was getting to the point where I was almost hoping for a truck carrying rabbits to break down outside. Unfortunately, short of that, I couldn't see getting rabbits from anywhere, and telling her that one had would be a short-term solution.

Still, it might be that short-term solutions were all I had. They'd worked so far.

"Couldn't we just keep doing this?" Cordelia asked. "Have the three of us just keep talking to her so she can't get clear long enough to make a wish?"

"If I can't think of anything better, that's exactly what I'll do," I said. "Still, she's going to get suspicious when she keeps seeing the same three people over and over again."

"Okay, so why have it be just us? Hello! We don't need to tell people what she is to get them to talk to her."

Hmmm. Good idea. I said as much. "Have anyone in mind?"

She looked around the room. "Anyone but Aaron Echolls or any woman who's been dumped recently."

"Do you know--?"

She gave a don't-be-stupid look. "Most of them, yeah. Who do you think you're talking to anyway? Xander?"

"Okay. My dad's coming over here and I'm supposed to be here helping him with something else. Could you take care of it?"

With a long-suffering "the things I do for you people" look on her face, Cordelia walked off as Dad came forward. "Well, that tears it," he said.

"Tears what?" I asked.

"I just talked to Nancy outside," Dad said. "She's not Viola Kerrigan either."

Terrific. "Which means we're out of suspects."

"Which means everyone's a suspect again," Dad said. "We're going to need to expand our suspect list to pretty much every female at this party above puberty and below 65 who isn't known to one of us personally." I knew she was one of the servers, which meant someone was using a really good fake ID.

Good enough to fool Keith Mars? Well, Anyanka had pulled it off, but then she had magic --

Well. That answered that. Every town above the level of No Horse, Idaho has someone selling fake IDs, ranging from the kind that couldn't fool your grandma with cataracts to the kind that could fake Gil Grissom. It didn't surprise me that maybe in Sunnydale someone had a line on "guaranteed undetectable" fake IDs that were made so by magic.

Shit, poop, and darn it to heck.

"Which rules out Lynn Echolls, Cordelia Chase, and Celeste Kane," I said. "And me."

"Dunno," Dad deadpanned. "Can I see some ID?"

I made a show of patting my pockets and then said, "Sorry, officer. You're going to have to take me in."

Serious again, Dad said, "There are a few other people it rules out, but you're pretty close. Way too many for us to check again. We're just going to have to stick close to Aaron and try to stop the stalker when she makes her move."

I couldn't do that, not and reliably stop Anyanka.

Then I had a thought. "So, we know that it's not Cordelia, Lynn Echolls, or Celeste, right?"

"Right," Dad said a bit dubiously.

"So we could certainly ask them." And you knew how desperate I had to be to suggest willingly talking to Celeste Kane.

"Well, we can ask Lynn," Dad said. "She knows about the case. We shouldn't give away details of the case to people who don't know about it."

"I thought there was no such thing as PI-client privilege," I said.

"That doesn't mean I tell everyone in sight, either," Dad said. "Clients in general tend to not go to detectives who blab the details to anyone who asks." Which I knew, of course, but I really couldn't afford to spend the rest of my time here wandering around the rooms trying to peg Viola Kerrigan instead of keeping an eye on Anyanka.

"So why give details? Just ask who they know and tell them it's a matter of security if they ask."

Dad shook his head. "No. Good idea, but no."

"Then what about Logan?" I suggested. When Dad seemed uncertain, I said, "He does know about it. I asked him if he'd seen any servers matching what we know Viola Kerrigan looks like, and he asked me if this was about the woman who was stalking his father." I left out the part about Logan not quite wanting his father dead. It didn't seem like that would help a whole hell of a lot at the moment.

Nodding slowly, Dad said, "Yeah. That, I can see." We looked around the room; he was standing near Anyanka towards the front of the room, munching on shrimp cocktail and keeping an ear on Anyanka's conversation with a tall blonde woman. He was being a lot more subtle than Cordelia had been, but still, eventually she'd get suspicious. I'd need to relieve him soon.

"I'll go ask him," I said. "As far the rest, you know what I'm thinking?"

"Go over the servers again," Dad said. "They're still the best way in. I'll just have to assume that someone out there has come up with a fake ID that can fool me." That's why he's good. Dad's proud of his ability to spot a phony ID, but he's not arrogant about it. He's confident in his abilities, not blindly confident. He knew Viola Kerrigan was there; he'd checked all the logical suspects; which meant he'd missed something his first go-round. "I'll do that after I talk to Lynn."

"Sounds like a plan," I said, and walked over to Logan. Along the way I noticed a guest I'd somehow missed before, or maybe he'd just come in: Mayor Wilkins.

His appearance didn't give me anything close to a heart attack, though; it was possible he was in the middle of some kind of evil plot, but there was nothing he did that I could do anything about before season 3, anyway (short of killing him outright, which would solve a lot of problems, but I wasn't quite ready to go down in history as "assassin" quite yet).

Pulling Logan away from his surveillance, I said, "Anything?"

"She's working the room," Logan said. "Determined to find someone, I guess. One woman bitched about her ex but didn't make any wishes, and the other just looked at the demon like she wanted her to go away."

"I'll take over in a minute," I said. "First – is there anyone here you don't know who isn't on the serving staff?"

"Still looking for the stalker?"

"We are," I said. "We know she's here, but everyone we checked had a legitimate ID."

Logan's eyebrows rose. "Someone's making fake IDs good enough to fool Keith Mars? Impressive."

"It is," I said. "Which means Dad's trying to get creative." I took out a notepad. "So, who don't you recognize that's even close to fitting our criteria?"

"Counting the demon?" I told him yes.

We spent about two minutes with Logan pointing out a half-dozen women in the room he didn't know by sight, and I wrote down the best descriptions I could. I handed him the notebook and asked him to give it to Dad. He nodded and walked off.

So now it was my turn to keep a surreptitious eye on everyone's favorite vengeance demon. She was circulating up a storm, talking to one person, then another. It seemed obvious that she knew someone here had a good wish out for a man who'd scorned them, even if she wasn't quite sure who.

She noticed me once; I smiled at her and she frowned back, but then turned back to her conversation.

After about ten minutes or so, one of Logan's friends from the poker game came up to Anyanka and started hitting on her.

Now, I knew Anya wasn't anti-sex, even as a vengeance demon, at least not if her reminiscences about Dracula were any indication. But this guy – his name escaped me, but he was on the football team and made Larry at his denyingest look subtle and nuanced – was most certainly not her type.

I was almost feeling sorry for her when a voice behind me said unexpectedly, "And that's just the first one."

I turned and saw Cordelia. "The first --?"

Her patented Cordelia don't-be-a-freaking-moron look was in fine form today. "The first distraction," she said. "I got six people to come along and distract her for us and keep her from granting any wishes. And not a single one knows a damn thing about why I really asked them to do it."

She sounded proud. Admittedly not a rare occurrence for Cordelia, who was firmly and partly correctly convinced she had a lot to be proud about, but this wasn't just her "I'm Cordelia and I'm better than you" face.

"What did you tell them?"

"Essentially? I told the women that I'd been talking to hot guy –" she pointed to where hot guy was talking to Aaron and Lynn Echolls – and that our demony friend over there had swooped in and monopolized his attention and could they please give her a hard time."

"And the guys?"

"I said I'd overheard her say she wasn't going to go home by herself tonight," Cordelia said.

I nodded my head appreciatively. "Not bad."

"Thank you," she said. "Also, none of the women have broken up with anyone recently, either."

"Good. Thanks. We might get through the evening yet."

Dad came back up to me at that point. "Miss Chase. Would you excuse us for a second?"

Cordelia knew a dismissal when she heard one, told me, "I'll keep an eye out," and left.

Without preamble, Dad said, "Lynn knew most of the people Logan didn't. I'm still going to check the few that neither one knew on sight, just in case."

"Anything you want me to do?"

"Keep an eye on the Echolls. Shout if anyone pulls out a weapon, and then get the hell away from there. I'm taking enough of a chance just having you here."

"I knew the job was dangerous when I took it, Dad," I said.

"I know, sweetie," he said. "But if you stay near a stalker with a knife, you're grounded."

I stomped my feet. "You never let me have any fun."

"It's in the job description," he said.

Anyanka by now had made it painfully clear she wasn't interested in the man's advances, primarily by bending his hand back until his fingers almost broke. "Leave. Now."

He left, rubbing his fingers.

I watched her for the minute or so it took for Cordelia's next stalking horse to put in an appearance: It was one of the Cordettes, which one, I wasn't sure; the only ones whose names I remembered were Aura and Harmony, and it wasn't either one of those.

Well, I wouldn't say the situation was in great hands, but they were good enough.

I surreptitiously followed Aaron around the room, and yes I'm not happy with the fact that I am essentially bodyguarding a man I wouldn't actually mind seeing stabbed a few times, but I'm doing this for Lynn, not him. (And for the evidence Dad picked up along the way against Aaron, of course. We might not have gotten a smoking gun, but there were additional character witnesses, at the very least.)

In the meantime, Anyanka kept getting interrupted and stalked by various men and women, and not all of them were Cordelia's and my age, either. (There were a few teenagers at the party, mostly the children of the rest of the Neptune elite, but most of the guests were adults.)

Dad was patiently reinterviewing every server.

We had Anyanka stymied.

Unfortunately, in the end, we ran out of time.

In the end, also, it was that Dad had thought to have me hover near Aaron that helped things not end quite like they had the first time around.

Lynn Echolls walked towards the piano and said, "Everyone, if you could just follow the Santas outside, I have a special surprise for you." The servers were now all dressed in their Santa uniforms.

This was the key moment. I remembered this much.

"Come on, everyone! You'll miss the surprise," Lynn said

Aaron followed with, "And we know how much she loves a surprise."

Everyone began wandering towards the door, which opened and revealed, as I expected, Christmas carolers in old-style garb, with fake snow falling around them.

Right then one of the servers came up. Not one I'd talked to. "You don't even care, do you?" she said.

"Dad!" I yelled.

"I'm sorry?" Aaron asked.

"You sleep with me," Viola said. "You say you love me."

Lynn's eyes were narrowing and Aaron said, "Lynn, I don't know who this person is, I swear. Look. I don't know you."

She reached into her pocket and grabbed a knife.

The carolers were beginning Here we Come A-Wassailing.

And right then, Dad came up behind Viola and grabbed her arm mid-swing. She struggled and turned to try to stab at Dad, but Dad was bigger and more experienced, and all Viola had was a rapidly dwindling rage.

"He told me he loved me," she said as Dad took the knife away and she sank to the floor.

"I'm sure he did," Dad murmured, quietly enough that Aaron couldn't hear.

"Why would you do this to me?" Viola asked.

No one answered.

As the private security force came along and hauled off the weeping Viola Kerrigan, Aaron came up and shook Keith's hand. "Near thing, man," he said. "But she didn't get close enough to do damage. Good job."

"Thanks," Dad said. Also important was that she hadn't gotten off a wish. I almost collapsed in relief. My delaying tactics had worked. I hated having had to scramble like that.

In the meantime, though, Lynn Echolls had recovered her wits. "It's true, isn't it?" she said quietly.

"Huh?" Aaron said.

"All this time I've been fooling myself, telling myself the tabloids were lying, that whatever your other sins were, you were basically faithful. And you weren't. She's--" she pointed in the direction of the departed Viola Kerrigan – "Just the only one who decided to do something about it."

A sharp, angry look on his face, Aaron said, "Now is not the time, Lynn."

"Really?" she said, barely controlling her temper. "When's a better time, Aaron? When we're alone? When you can hit us to make sure we're doing what you want? No. Not this time."

Logan had forced his way to his mother's side, but he seemed helpless to stop the impending explosion.

"Lynn—" Aaron hissed.

"I said, not this time, Aaron. Enough is enough. I'm going upstairs, packing, and going to a hotel. I'll have my lawyers –"

Aaron grabbed her arm, a little too hard. Dad and Logan simultaneously moved forward, but Lynn managed to jerk free on her own. The red marks from the grip on the arm, though they faded fast, showed that Aaron had been holding on hard.

"Enough!" Lynn yelled. By this point every eye in the place was focused on her. "You know what, Aaron? Sometimes I wish to hell I'd never married you!"

Oh, _shit_.

And a smug voice behind me said, "Done."


	73. Bewished, Battered and Bedeviled

Author's Note: I live to confound assumptions, I guess.

Thanks to Ponder and Duchess for reading the first couple of pages of this chapter and letting me know that no, I wasn't cheating.

I hope y'all agree with them.

X X X X X

Almost out of instinct, I'd closed my eyes once I realized, too late, what Lynn had said.

How the hell could I have not considered this? That Lynn Echolls – who'd gotten scorned a hundred times worse than Viola Kerrigan ever had, no matter the disparity in their reactions – would be the one to make the wish?

But no. I'd stupidly missed her while concentrating on Viola Kerrigan. I'd breathed a mental sigh of relief once Dad had stopped Viola from stabbing Aaron, for Lynn's sake, and an even bigger sigh when she'd allowed herself to be dragged off without making a wish.

Lynn hadn't reacted this way the first time around. But then, the first time around, Dad hadn't gotten there quite in time (and it was interesting that all of my foreknowledge got Dad maybe five seconds' extra time to stop the attack), and Aaron had been unconscious and bleeding profusely, so that Lynn and Logan's main concern had been saving his life.

Here? No. Here, Aaron was okay, there was a larger crowd, and maybe Lynn had seen their faces, their knowledge, and in some cases, their guilt, because like I said, there were damn few women at that party who weren't at least possible bed partners for Aaron. Or maybe she'd had the time to process here, that what she knew and had thought was secret was in fact an open secret, and that the dignity she'd thought she'd had (and did have, to me) was in fact people laughing at her behind her back.

Either way, she'd gotten angry.

Angry enough to wish.

And neither Logan nor I had been able to stop her. Or Anyanka, behind me, who'd figured it out before I had.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Sweetie? Are you okay?"

Opening my eyes, I saw Dad.

And the inside of the Echolls' Mansion. Complete with Lynn Echolls, storming up the stairs, and Aaron Echolls, standing in the middle of the room looking like he'd just been punched in the gut.

"Um, thanks, Keith," he said distractedly. "I need to –" he moved towards the staircase.

"Under the circumstances, Dad," Logan said pointedly. "I think that's the last thing you need to do."

What the hell?

I knew I'd heard Anyanka say, "Done." I knew we should be in a wish universe, with Logan not here and maybe Lilly alive, and who knows what else?

Instead, it was like I'd simply closed my eyes and gone la-la-la-la-la for 15 seconds.

The vengeance demon had been behind me. I turned around to see what was going on. In the chaos of the situation, I really couldn't pick anything out.

A couple of people had been knocked down; as had a vase stand. The trail looked like it led to the back door.

Dad and Logan were busy trying to keep Aaron from going upstairs, so I took a couple of steps backwards and, dodging bodies and fallen furniture, followed the trail. Whatever had happened, it hadn't been especially neat, and Anyanka hadn't been happy.

I figured it out as soon as I got to the backyard.

And would have sagged in relief, had the situation in front of me not been sort of desperate.

Think about it.

Logan and I had been otherwise occupied. There were only two other people in the building who might have known what Anyanka was, and Mayor Wilkins one, was on the other side of the room, and two, wasn't going to confront a vengeance demon this close to his ascension unless he had no other choice.

So guess who, apparently right before Anyanka had said, "done," had ripped the necklace from her neck and gone sprinting for the Echolls' back door?

Got it in one.

In the backyard, to the cries of "chick fight!" from Logan and Duncan's half-drunken friends, Anyanka was doing her level best to run Cordelia down. So her powers included superhuman strength and resistance to injury, in addition to teleportation, but apparently not superhuman speed.

Or intelligence, considering that she could have teleported in front of Cordelia instead of simply running after her. (I knew damn well Anya wasn't stupid. I also knew right now that she must have been blind with rage, otherwise Cordelia would have been in a lot of trouble.)

It had been impulsive, it had been reckless, and it had saved all of us from being shifted into an alternate universe, so I wasn't going to tell Cordelia any of this.

Still, I needed to save her.

"Cordelia!" I yelled.

She saw me and, dodging very nicely around Anyanka's outraged attempts to grab her, ran towards me and threw me the necklace.

Anyanka saw all of this, of course, and now came barreling towards me. I backed towards the pool and knelt down on the concrete walkway surrounding it. Then, holding the necklace tightly, I raised my hand as though I was going to smash it.

She came to a sudden stop. "You'd better not do that," she said. Duncan had figured out that something bad was going on, and started to walk towards me.

Cordelia stopped him. I couldn't hear what she said to him, but within about five seconds Duncan was gathering all of his friends up and hustling them back towards the house.

She moved with them for part of the way, but stayed well within the range of my arm.

I had to give her a lot of credit. Later. Right now, I needed to stay alive.

"I won't," I said. "As soon as there's no chance of you granting any wishes."

She turned into her demon form and growled, "How do you know who I am? Who are you?"

"Just a normal human," I said.

"Don't lie. She's a normal human," she said, pointing at Cordelia.

"Hey!" Cordelia said.

Anyanka ignored her. "You're not. You look human, but you're not. I don't know what you are and that bothers me."

"Are you delusional?" Cordelia said. "She's as human as I am."

Anyanka was obviously, somehow, sensing that I was magic-null. I wasn't about to spill that to her, though. It gave me an opening and I was going to use it.

"No, Cordelia," I said. "She's figured it out. There's no point in lying to her now." Cordelia looked confused for a second, but quickly figured out what was going on. To Anyanka, I said, "You're right. I'm not human. I am a master manipulator; I know the past, I know the future. And what I do not need right now is a vengeance demon mucking up the works by granting a wish. That is why I had my servant--" Cordelia's eyes narrowed when she heard me use the word "servant," but she didn't object at the moment, though I knew I'd have to answer for it later --"take your necklace and not to destroy it. The wish you would have granted would have changed history far beyond that which was necessary for my purposes." I had no idea what was going on inside; no one had followed me and Cordelia outside, and everyone else who'd been out here seemed to be out of range.

My guess would be that Dad and Logan were still mediating, trying to stop Aaron from going completely mental. I doubt they were trying to stop Lynn from leaving.

"I thought it was something like that," Anyanka said. "So you're not going to destroy my necklace?"

"Not unless you force me to," I said. "You didn't seem to be in the mood where you were interested in listening to sweet reason." She still seemed upset, but no longer blindly furious.

"I wasn't. I'm still not happy. Give me back my necklace."

Calmly -- a lot more calmly than I felt, which seemed to be par for the course in Sunnydale -- I said, "Guarantee me that you won't make that wish."

She rolled her eyes and said, "I can't, now. It's too late."

"Or any other wish that will change the past or hurt me or my -- servants."

"Only him," she said. "The man in there whose wife made the wish. He was the only one I was planning to hurt anyway."

"I know vengeance demons don;t care all that much about collateral damage," I said.

"What's the point? As long the vengeance is good, what else matters?"

"Maybe to you," I said. "Not to me. Do we have a deal?"

"We do," she said, shifting back to her human form.

This was a bigger bluff than in any poker game. I hoped to hell I'd pulled it off and wasn't making a big mistake, but my only other choice at this point was to actually smash the necklace, and I'd done quite enough damage to the timeline, thank you.

Of course, would Cordelia make the wish, now knowing who and what Anyanka was? Would she be fooled by a new student calling herself Anya? I highly doubted it; Cordelia was in no way, shape or form, stupid. None of which precluded Anyanka from pulling a Halfrek and doing it on the sly, which would probably mean an entirely different wish.

This one really wasn't my fault, though; this one was because the Adversary had decided to bring in my backstory rather than just dumping me in Sunnydale, and that was his decision, not mine, though I'll always be happy I still got my Dad, and Backup, and Logan, and (occasionally) Duncan.

Would anything have been different if I'd just decided to sit on my hands? Would someone else at tonight's party have made a wish that wouldn't have altered the future significantly, and would Anyanka then have gone on, satisfied?

I didn't think so.

If the Adversary was listening, I hoped he'd take note of this.

o, gingerly, I handed her back the necklace. She put it on, said, "That's better," and turned to walk back towards the house.

Wisely, Cordelia got out of her way, but Anyanka didn't so much as spare her a glance as she passed her.

I followed at what, based on the vengeance demon's temper, was in my judgment a distance safe enough that if she decided to lash out I wouldn't be the nearest target.

Cordelia stopped me before I got to the back door. "Servant?" she said.

"The best I could think of at the time," I said. "She seemed to think I was powerful, somehow, and I needed to explain why I'd had you swipe the necklace rather than doing it myself."

"Fine, I get that," she said. "But couldn't you have said, I don't know, 'superior being' or something? Cordelia Chase is nobody's servant."

"I agree," I said. "And, Cordelia, by the way?"

"Yeah?"

"Good job. Very good job. If you hadn't done what you did, right then, we'd all be in an alternate universe and only Lynn and maybe me would know what was going on, Logan would probably not be here, and I know you're not his biggest fan but I don't think you want him nonexistent. And who knows what else would have changed?"

"You're saying I saved the world?"

"Yeah. You did. And I'll tell anyone who knows about this kind of thing, too."

"You'd better," she said. "Because if I did this? I want credit for it. I want them to think I'm capable of it."

"You'll get it," I said. "And you are."

"I knew that," she said.

"I'm sure you did," I said. "Mind if we go inside? I'd like to make sure my Dad's not having too much of a hard time."

"Hold it," Cordelia said. "I have an important question."

"What?" I said.

"How do I look?"

I restrained myself from laughing. Cordelia didn't deserve it right then. What she did deserve was an honest answer, and right now, she looked like exactly what she was: a beautiful woman in an expensive dress and three-inch-heels who'd just sprinted about a quarter of a mile. I told her as much.

"Then I'll see you at school tomorrow. No way for me to make it to the powder room from here, and if you think I'm going to let those people see me like this, you're more nuts than I already thought you were."

And then she turned and walked around the side of the house. I forbore from mentioning that the party inside was almost certainly over; she was going to run into people either way.

I realized how close a call I'd – we'd – had, there. Whether the Adversary had held me responsible for the Wish-Verse or not, it would have been a bitch and a half trying to get things back on track, and that would have involved a massive change in history: depowering Anyanka a full year early.

So thank all gods and goddesses everywhere that I'd brought Cordelia in on it, and thank them doubly for letting her be quick-thinking enough to snatch the necklace away while I stood around gawping.

As the universe kept spinning, I took a deep breath and opened the back doors of the Echolls Mansion.

Aaron was sitting on the front couch. Dad and Logan were standing there in front of him. Part of me wishes Dad had let Aaron go off a little more, but that would have been at Lynn's expense. I might be cold at times, willing to use people, but Lynn is the kind of person I will never hurt to get my way, no matter how important my goal is.

Sure, he might have attacked Logan or Dad instead, but them? Not so interested in getting them attacked either, even if I'm surer of how they would handle the situation. So on balance I was glad that Dad and Logan seemed to have calmed Aaron down.

Of course, his concern for his image probably had something to do with it as well. Everything so far could be explained away to a friendly reporter or two.

Through the front windows I could see sirens. The Sunnydale Sheriff's Department had finally shown up, presumably to haul Viola Kerrigan away. One of the deputies was inside questioning people, but I'd say about 3/4 of the guests had already left.

Including the entire Kane family, and apparently Cordelia's parents, though she was just as likely to have driven herself.

Mayor Wilkins, oddly, was still there, but it was possible he was simply playing politics; the mayor sneaking out of a crime scene, even if he was completely innocent, was likely to get around, even in Sunnydale; supernatural gossip might be at a minimum, but regular gossip was not.

For the few people that were currently there, though, Wilkins was politicking up a storm, making sure people saw him talking to the police. I don't know how many of them were impressed, but neither Dad, Logan, nor for that matter Aaron was among the group who was, and the media – whose vans I could see, in the distance – was being kept well away.

Anyanka hadn't left yet. I didn't think she was sticking around for what remained of the hors d'oeuvres.

"Dad?" I asked. "What's going on?"

"Hey, sweetie," Dad said. "What's going on is we've all been asked to stay until Don Lamb gets around to asking us questions about what happened."

"I assume L—Logan's mother is still upstairs?"

"Yes," Aaron and Logan said curtly, at almost the same time.

Logan continued by himself. "Lamb's up there questioning her. He's not letting her leave either."

"I hope she doesn't, son," Aaron said.

Logan opened his mouth and closed it, apparently not trusting what he was about to say. Good. The last thing we needed was a second undercard of Echolls vs. Echolls. Aaron, for his part, looked torn between dejection, outrage, and shock.

Dad had no such compunctions. "That's her decision at this point, Aaron. I'm not getting involved in the middle of the domestic part of this. And I'm sure the reason you grabbed her so hard that it left a mark was pure shock. Right?"

"Right," Aaron said. "Shock."

"Just saying, there were a lot of witnesses, so it might not be a good idea if you confronted her again. And I wouldn't touch her again like that. Just to be on the safe side." Dad's tone couldn't have been more jovial. His words were friendly advice.

And yet, me, Logan, and anyone else who happened to be in earshot would know damn well what Dad was saying.

Aaron Echolls was a murderous psychopath with a violent temper. He was surrounded by people who would, mostly, back his story if he decided to take exception to what Dad was saying; me, Cordelia, probably Logan.

And he just looked up at Dad and said, "I got it, Keith," and sank further into the sofa.

And that is why Keith Mars is one of the few people on the planet who would never be intimidated by Rupert Giles. If you can back down Aaron Echolls under these circumstances, you can back down damn near anyone.

Deputy Lamb jogged downstairs, looked around, and beelined for us. He didn't happy to see me, but with Dad standing five feet away he resisted the temptation to deliver any cheap shots.

To Dad, he said, "Okay, Keith. What happened?"

And Dad began to give him a more or less complete version of what had happened, from the time Aaron had hired him. The less, of course, was that he didn't bother mentioning our conviction that Aaron had killed Lilly. If he got around to talking to me, I wouldn't bring it up either.

If I need to say it, neither will Anyanka.

Dad was done with his narrative and Lamb was asking him questions when Lynn came downstairs, carrying a suitcase, a briefcase, and one other bag.

Logan got up and walked over to her while Aaron glared. He took the suitcase and said, "Let me take that, Mother."

She smiled at him, though it was forced. "Thank you."

Aaron got up and took a couple of steps towards her; Dad and, to my surprise, Lamb blocked his path. "Don't do anything that might look bad," Lamb said, while Dad said, "Don't do something you'll regret, Aaron."

"I just want to talk to her," Aaron said, then calling out, "Lynn! Don't! Please. You know how much I --"

"Care about your image? Yes, I know that," Lynn said. "It's always been about your image. Never about me, and never about Logan." She shook her head. "Don't worry. I won't go damaging it any more than it already has been. Sometimes, though – sometimes I just wish that wasn't all you cared about. I wish you were the person your image made you out to be." She sighed. "Come on, Logan."

Anyanka looked at me. I nodded my head slightly.

She nodded back and said, "Done." 


	74. No Surprise

Author's Note: Apparently Buffy and Veronica have both seen _The Long Kiss Goodnight_. There's probably a good crossover between that movie and Buffy waiting to happen.

X X X X X

So why did I let her say it?

I could say it was a calculated risk, which it certainly was, but the truth was, I had no choice. I couldn't rely on successfully bluffing her long enough to get her out of town without making any wishes. Yes, this one was unpredictable, but it didn't change the past.

It was vague enough that it could make Aaron into a good family man, an action hero, or something else; I was kind of pulling for "conscience," but wasn't holding my breath. There would have to be vengeance involved, though nothing said that vengeance had to be bloody.

And after all, I am Epimetheus. I'm the only one allowed to mess with the past in Sunnydale.

Five seconds after saying "done," Anyanka walked to the now-empty corner of the room where the bar was and simply vanished. Her job here was done.

Aaron's reaction to this wish was a lot less drastic than I'd hoped when I'd heard it. He simply walked back to the couch and sank back into it.

Dad, in the meantime, turned back to Don Lamb and said, "Are we done here, Don?"

"I think I have all I need for now," he said. "Veronica, I may need to ask you a few questions later."

I grinned broadly and said, "Anything for you, deputy. Say, how's progress on yesterday's multiple homicide coming?" No, I wasn't grinning over the deaths, and yes, it had been just yesterday – about 24 hours in the past almost exactly, in fact – that I'd been led away from a bloodbath by a psychopathic vampire.

My life is never dull. Doesn't that suck?

Irritably, Lamb said, "I don't discuss active cases," and walked away.

Dad looked at me. "Let me guess," I said,. "I shouldn't tease him like that."

Dad shrugged. "I wasn't going to say anything."

I said goodbye to Cordelia, and we left.

X X X X X

We got home before it was rude to make phone calls, so (after Dad and hashed out exactly what had happened for the purpose of the reports we'd be writing for the files tomorrow), I went to my room and called Buffy to give her a two-minute summary of what had happened.

"You're sure she's gone? That Onion-girl isn't coming back?"

Onion-girl? Ah. Right. "Anyanka," I said. "And no, I'm not sure. I think she's gone for now, assuming she, and Epimetheus, weren't lying to me, and assuming my reading of the situation is right, but you know what happens when you make an assumption."

"You make an ass out of u and umption?" Buffy asked.

"Yup," I said.

"So, let's see. Last night, Drusilla. Tonight, vengeance demon. What's tomorrow night?"

"If God loves me, quiet."

I knew better, of course.

But that Drusilla might be out there stalking me had been pushed to the back of my head, and it stayed there long enough for me to complete the evening's routine and go to bed.

And then I was back at the Christmas party, headed out the back door towards the swimming pool. The Adversary was sitting by the side, in a lounge chair.

"What took you so long?" I asked.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I'm guessing this is because I told Anyanka that I knew the past and future, that you're now going to read me the riot act or say I violated the terms of the bet. So go ahead." I sat down at the edge of the pool. There was an empty chair next to him, but that would have been just too weird.

"That was a big risk, true," he said, "But it doesn't seem to have done you any damage. Miss Chase believes you were running an almost total bluff, and Anyanka believes you're a supernatural power of some sort. Neither one is anywhere close to the truth. So you're off the hook, there."

"Good to know," I said.

"However: Although Anyanka's presence was due to my decision to include your past history, your reaction to her was still yours. So you are being scored for the evening, with some leeway being given."

Still processing, I said, "So this scoring system is less like baseball and more like gymnastics? I just hope that last routine pleased the Russian judge."

"Yes," he said. "On the scoring system, anyway. There is no Russian judge, of course. There is only me."

"Something seems kind of fundamentally unfair about that," I said. "I was forced to bet against you—"

"You weren't forced, Miss Mars."

"Knock off the word-twisting," I said. "It was a Hobson's choice. You know it, I know it."

"Hobson's choice is still a choice," he said.

"Anyway," I said. "You're my opponent. And you're the judge."

"That's the way it is in Las Vegas," The Adversary said. "You bet against them and you have to rely on them to pay you off if you win."

I shook my head. "Nuh-uh. There's this little thing called the Nevada Gaming Commission. On the off chance a casino cheats, there's a decent chance that someone is going to find out eventually and call them on it. Do you have a Nevada Gaming Commission?"

"That," he said a little stiffly, "Would imply that I cheat."

"Yes it would."

"I do not. I can not. It is not in my nature. Once the game has started, I stop interfering."

"I'm not accusing you of interfering," I said. "Hell, I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm saying that it seems unfair."

"Then," he said, "You will have to live with that."

"Another Hobson's choice?"

"Yes." He stretched. "In any event, Miss Mars: To return to my baseball analogy, the game has now moved to the top of the ninth."

Exasperatedly, I said, "Can you give me any hint when it's going to end? Anything?"

"That depends how long the innings go," he said, smiling faintly and irritatingly. "I can say that it will almost certainly not end where and when you thought it would."

"Of course it won't," I said. "That doesn't mean I'll never get it right, does it?"

"If I'd meant that, I would have said so," he said. "Goodnight, Miss Mars."

He snapped his fingers and I woke up. 4:17 AM and nothing to do the rest of the night but think about what the Adversary said.

First off, I'd thought it would end at _Surprise_, for reasons too obvious to go into. I guess I was wrong.

No _Surprise_ there, I guess.

I'd already been reasonably sure I wasn't going to make it there; now I was dead certain.

Whether I would get to Christmas? Anyone's guess. I wouldn't place any bets on _Bad Eggs_.

I suppose I could always jump the gun there – have Epimetheus call Giles and tell him about the monster in the basement.

I blinked and sat up in bed. What was I thinking? The last time I'd tried to jump the gun – yesterday – things had ended up with Amy Madison and nine other people dead, and Drusilla proclaiming herself my new best friend.

Of course, I'd managed to preempt part of _Halloween_, all of _The Dark Age,_ and parts of _Ted_. Not to mention Sheila. Whether I'd helped with _What's My Line_ was murkier; Buffy knew Spike and Drusilla were out there, at least, but Spike was substantially less injured.

So I wasn't going to jump the gun. But I wasn't going to rule it out. "Risk-averse" would never be a word used to describe Veronica Mars.

I didn't have the feeling I was being watched tonight. Still, I looked out the window, why I don't know. It's not like I could have done anything if Drusilla had been out there.

In any event, she wasn't. At least, I couldn't see it. Buffy wasn't either, but her mother was home, so she was lucky to squeeze in patrolling, never mind watching over a semi-paranoid friend.

Of course, I might not see either of them no matter how hard I looked; they were both fairly good at being unnoticed when they wanted.

I double-checked, found nothing again, and closed the shades.

Nothing to do now but pass the time quietly, and the only real way to do that now (because lying in my bed thinking about my situation was right out; I'd had enough of that over the weekend) was to pick up where I'd left off with _Cards on the Table_.

I'd just finished the book – a nice twist at the end, like with most of Christie's – when it was about time for me to wake up anyway.

So I would have to get by today on a bit under five hours of sleep.

I was used to that. And it had started well before I'd come to Sunnydale.

X X X X X

Giles caught me on my way to my locker in the morning and said, "Ah, Miss Mars. Could I have a word with you?"

"Buffy called you last night?"

"She did."

"Then you know the most important things: Vengeance demon at the Echolls Christmas Party; Epimetheus told me about her; and Cordelia stopped her from sending us all into an alternate universe."

"She did tell me all of that," he said. ""I was hoping for more details."

"And you'll get them this afternoon," I said. "If you can gather everyone in the 'Scooby Gang' up. No need to get Sheila Kelly; I'll tell her myself."

"If you could tell me now, I would very much appreciate it."

"I'd rather only tell it once," I said. "Look, Mr. Giles. I've had a lousy weekend even by my standards. I was hoping for the school day as a break to all of that, and rehashing what happened one more time than necessary isn't going to be particularly conducive to that. You know the basics. The details can wait."

Miss Mars –" I sighed. "No, Mr. Giles. This isn't an apocalypse and you're not my father." Unlike every other member of the Scoobies, I didn't particularly need a surrogate father figure. (Note that I'm not claiming any superiority in that regard, just noting a difference.) "If I thought that Anyanka was an immediate threat, I would let you know. I don't."

He hesitated for a second, and then said "Very well. After school it is, then."

"Look," I said in case I'd come across as harsh. "I appreciate everything you did for me over the weekend. Honestly. This isn't me being ungrateful, this is me not wanting to have to constantly relive it."

"I quite understand, Miss Mars," he said. "And I apologize that it came off as though I was pressuring you. I shall see you this afternoon."

X X X X X

I lost myself in schoolwork, difficult to do when you've done 85% of it before, but I managed. Sheila, though, wasn't the only person I told; I also told Logan, since he'd been involved in a good portion of the 'distract Anyanka' portion of the evening.

He wasn't in a particularly good mood, of course. I couldn't blame him.

"Listen, Mars," he said. "I'm really not up for any banter today."

"Good. I wasn't going to banter. Do you think I'm that insensitive?"

"I think that if you needed to solve a case, you'd poke and prod me no matter how you thought I or anyone else was feeling," he said.

Which was close enough to true that I couldn't take offense. "Okay. I'm not on a case. I just wanted to tell you that we managed to stop Anyanka, and that you're partly responsible. Thank you."

"At this point, I'm not sure we wouldn't be better off in another universe," Logan said. "We've got dozens of reporters on our front lawn, my Mom is holed up in a hotel, and Dad made me breakfast in bed this morning. So yay for taking down a bad guy, but right now I don't care a whole hell of a lot. Maybe later."

"I understand."

"You were there at the denouement. That does not mean you understand." After a second, he added, "Still, I do actually appreciate the sentiment. Talk to you later."

Sheila was a lot easier, but then, she hadn't been in the middle of a murder attempt and the probable beginning of divorce proceedings. I told her during lunch.

"Maybe you might not want to leave your house, manhunter," she said when I was done. "Seems like every time you leave something bad happens."

"Not true!" I protested. "I left home this morning and nothing bad's happened to me."

Grinning evilly, she said, "'snot right. First off, you ain't home yet. Second, where are you?"

"School," I said.

"The prosecution rests."

I threw a french fry at her.

X X X X X

After school came around soon enough.

I walked into the library; Buffy, Cordelia and Giles were there, but Xander and Willow hadn't straggled in yet. "Oh, good," I said. "Perfect. I'm fashionably late, but not so late that everyone's irritated. You know how I love to make an entrance."

"Since when did being fashionable ever matter to you?" Cordelia asked.

"Hey, I'm the person you're relying on to tell everyone what happened last night," I said.

"So?" she said.

"So maybe now isn't the time to take shots at me." I kept the tone light, so that Buffy and Giles would know I was teasing.

Cordelia looked confused. "Who's taking shots?" she asked. "I was asking an honest question. I mean, just look at you. Functional, yeah, sure, but it's obvious you left caring what people think about you behind a long time ago. How is that an insult?"

"You're right, as always," Buffy said.

"Yeah! The world would be a lot better off if everyone understood that."

Buffy and I looked at each other, repressing grins. Giles, for his part, was polishing his glasses; always a good excuse to avoid participating a conversation like this one.

Right then, Xander and Willow walked in, having an animated discussion on Xander's lack of study habits, which broke off as soon as they saw me. "Okay," Xander said. "Looks like it's time for another exciting episode of the thrilling tales of Veronica Mars." The tone was teasing, not mean; Xander's long-standing grudge had dissipated.

Willow slapped him on the arm anyway.

As everyone sat down, I said, "Return with me now to those thrilling hours of yesterday, when three people fought a near-hopeless battle against overwhelming odds."

"Miss Mars?" Giles said.

"I know. Knock off going for dramatic effect."

"Actually, I was wondering how you were even aware of a radio show that premiered, probably, before your father was born."

I shrugged. "Dad's love for classic entertainment. In addition to watching a ton of movies in black&white, he's also got a collection of old-time radio shows."

"Ah. Pray continue. But sans the dramatic narration, please."

"Oh, darn. I was going to call Cordelia kemo sabe and everything."

"Miss Mars –" Giles repeated, with a this-time-justified note of frustration in his voice.

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Hearken to my tale and I will tell you of how Cordelia Chase saved the world. _Yes_, really, Xander. Cordelia. With some help from me, Logan Echolls – yes, Logan Echolls, Xander – and Epimetheus."

And so I gave them the long version of what had happened the previous night, with plenty of pauses for questions. No, Epimetheus hadn't left a number where she could be reached. _Yes_, she explained everything, and yes, I believed her because she hadn't lied to us any of the other times she'd interfered. I'd asked Logan for help because he knew about the world of the supernatural and my options for help were limited. _Yes_, really, Xander. I hadn't called them because I didn't think I had the time, and because I didn't think any of them could have gotten in, or stayed in if they had without making a big scene of it, no insult intended.

I gave them fewer details about the blowup between Aaron and Lynn Echolls; they could get enough of that from the papers anyway.

The wish caught me off guard; sorry. I don't do this for a living; I did the best I could.

_Yes_, Xander, really. Please stop asking.

Yes; Cordelia's reflexes stopped us all from going into an alternate universe. I'm assuming that somehow she read my magic-nullness and that something about that threw her into assuming I was some kind of slumming higher power. Of course it was a silly idea, but sometimes silly ideas are all you have.

_Yes_, Willow, really.

Yes, I let Anyanka make the wish. Because I had no choice. Because I couldn't afford to have her figure out my bluff, get mad, and start trashing the joint, or Cordelia, or me.

I know it was a risk. It was a big risk. Under the circumstances? I think we did pretty good. So knock off the criticism.

No, I don't know what effect the wish has had yet. If you open your mouth, Xander, I'll jam your shoes into it.

When I was done, finally, Giles was the first to thank Cordelia. Buffy was second, and Xander was next, though mainly because Willow had nudged him until he said something.

Willow finished it off.

I wouldn't have engineered this to thank anyone else, and it's not like Cordelia Chase needed an ego boost, but she'd had to work like hell to earn their respect, no matter how much she might have claimed otherwise. Maybe this would help a bit.

And she had earned it. Her instincts had been to save mankind rather than to run and hide. That said a lot about her.

(Note: I'd always liked Cordelia as a character; it was turning out I liked her as a person as well.)

"Have you had quite enough adulation, Cordelia?" Giles said, not unkindly.

She sighed and said, "I guess I've had enough for the moment. But just remember you all owe me your lives."

"I'm sure you'll keep reminding us," Xander said.

Cutting short Cordelia's outraged squawk, Giles said, "That's not quite all I wanted to go through today. As you're all aware, Miss Mars had quite a busy weekend, and atypically, most of it was spent in our field, not hers. There appears to be nothing we can do about Anyanka at the moment, and in any event she rarely overstays her welcome. However, there is something we can do about her other main tormentor, Drusilla. Buffy and I spent some time discussing this and we both feel the time to strike is now, before Spike is back to full health."

Huh.

Is it the bottom of the ninth already?


	75. Fire Itself

IInstinct told me, of course, that this was it. My instincts have been known to be wrong before, but still, I was pretty sure about this one.

C'mon, Giles; couldn't you have given me a couple of days to relax and recuperate?

Apparently, the answer to that was a hearty "hell no," and the main reason Giles was talking about his and Buffy's plans to kill Drusilla was to make sure those of us who either didn't have superhuman powers or years of training would stay well out of it.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Cordelia said. "I've done my part for humanity this month."

Willow and Xander protested. I hadn't expected them to do anything else.

"I know you guys like to help," Buffy said. "And you can help this time by making sure you don't get hurt. Research is fine. But Drusilla and Spike are beyond dangerous."

"Veronica faced her and lived," Xander said.

"That's because, for some reason known only to God and herself, she likes me," I said. I knew this attempt to protect Willow and Xander wouldn't take in the long term, but I didn't think Buffy was aiming at the long term. "I wouldn't last five seconds if she didn't. Neither would anyone here except Buffy and Giles."

"And I would last perhaps ten if I attempted anything on my own," Giles said. He was downplaying his own abilities. He'd managed to do significant damage to Angelus in Passion, though part of that was surprise and part of that was Spike keeping Drusilla from getting involved in the fight.

"This isn't a permanent benching," Buffy said. "You guys are still in the game. It's just for this particular fight I'd rather you guys were safely on the sidelines."

"Buffy, this is Sunnydale," Willow said. "There is no 'safe' here."

"Point," Buffy said. "Safer, then."

"Like Veronica and I were at the Echolls Christmas party?" Cordelia asked.

Buffy threw up her hands. "You know what I mean."

"I do," I said. "Where Drusilla's concerned, I not only want to be on the sidelines, I want to be in a different stadium, playing an entirely different game."

"Thank you," Buffy said. "Again: You guys do not have to stop helping me. At all. I just don't want you actually facing Drusilla. Okay?"

They said nothing.

"Okay?" Buffy repeated irritably.

"Okay," they mumbled. It was obvious they thought they were being shafted.

Given that I haven't exactly been the face of prudence and wisdom when it comes to risky encounters – and get your mind out of the gutter – you might wonder why I was backing Buffy's side on this and not Xander and Willow's.

I could simply answer, "It's Drusilla!" but I suspect that would qualify to most of you as 'sufficient but not necessary,' and yes, I know how that phrase usually goes.

I'll still take risks; but one, that doesn't mean I want anyone else to take them, and two, I've learned a few things. I'm no longer quite the same person who went in alone and unarmed with anything but my wits to face down a bar full of Fitzpatricks. If I had it to do again, I might do it, but I'd have backup (not Backup; the Fitzpatricks wouldn't blink at killing a dog given what they're willing to most people) and an exit plan.

Spike and Drusilla were dangerous enough that Buffy and Giles were planning ahead on how to deal with them, rather than simply using "Find them and wing it." Me and thee and Xander and 2nd-season Willow wouldn't have a chance no matter how we planned, short of flamethrowers or bomb strikes.

Which might not be a bad idea.

If I was so sure that killing Spike and Drusilla now was the right way to go, I might make that suggestion. As it was? Still working out whether to clue the vampires in.

The problem was, is that while I was reasonably sure what I could do about Bad Eggs, things had changed so much already that I still wasn't sure whether a major change like this would be beneficial to the timeline in the long run. In the short run, sure, both of them would kill fewer people. (I'm leaving aside "what if one of the people they might have killed was a serial killer/ terrorist/cured cancer. That was something no one could reasonably predict.)

In the long run? Aye, there was the rub.

I've gone over this over and over in my head, and I still can't figure out whether to help Buffy, help Spike and Dru escape, or just stay the hell out of it and let the bodies fall where they may.

(Note: If it looks like things are going to hell, if Spike and Dru start running riot, I will do as much as I can to stop it, and to hell with concerns about the future.)

And I can't ask anyone for help, either.

I have to figure this out myself.

Dammit.

The Adversary said it would come down to a big decision. And this, apparently, is the decision.

"Veronica?" Buffy said, and it didn't sound like it was for the first time.

"Sorry," I said. "I was just thinking. What's going on that you need my input for?"

"I was asking if you were okay with it."

"With what? Not being in the room with you when you try to take down the crazy vampires? I would have thought that was obvious already, but yeah. I've said it probably often enough that it's gotten irritating, but while trouble is my business, I'm a detective, not a monster hunter. If sleuthing will help, so will I. Otherwise? Fine with you doing it. Believe me." After a second, I added, "Do you need me to sleuth?"

"At the present time --" Giles began.

Buffy interrupted him. "Actually --"

Both Giles and I were surprised at this. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if maybe you could do some research, maybe try to figure out where they might be hiding?"

"Right, 'cause there's only one vampire hideout in all of Sunnydale," Cordelia said.

I said, "Cordelia's sarcastic, as usual, but she's also right."

"Also as usual," Cordelia said.

"There are too many possible places," I said, "For me to be able to pin one down without fieldwork. And that's the kind of fieldwork you're better at than I am."

"Really?" Buffy said.

"Really. Of the two of us, which is more likely to be able to beat a vampire until he talks? Me, or you? Catch the vampire and I can interrogate him. An uncaught vampire? Nuh-uh. Not in my wheelhouse. Anyway, there are way too many hideouts in Sunnydale. Unless, of course," I said, "You're planning to go proactive on all of this and track down every possible vampire and other evil demon in town and kill them. I wouldn't think that would be a bad idea, but you'd need bombs or worse to pull it off. Unless you want to give the bad guys a chance to retaliate, you'd pretty much need to take most of them out at once."

Buffy looked at Giles, who said, firmly, "No."

Snorting, Buffy said, "I wasn't thinking we firebomb Sunnydale. But I was thinking maybe the overkill once we track down Spike and Dru's lair would be a good idea."

"It isn't done," Giles said.

"Neither is a Slayer having her own life, or friends," Buffy said. "And yet, here I am."

Giles said, "I wasn't saying that out of reactionary instinct," Giles said. "This is scarcely the first time this has been proposed. It isn't done because such attempts tend to be large and showy and attract unwelcome attention. A bare handful of times in the past it's been deemed necessary, and always to prevent an apocalypse. Taking on Spike and Drusilla, while important, doesn't quite qualify."

"Well," Xander said, "If firebombing's out, how about just fire?"

"And if they've chosen to lair where the fire might spread?" Giles asked. "I do not wish to burn down half of Sunnydale in our efforts, and I am reasonably certain Buffy doesn't either."

"Which half?" Buffy asked. "Because if it's the half with the school, then I really don't see the downside."

Giles' glare was deadly enough enough to take down vampires unassisted.;

Buffy said, "I'd get everyone out first . . . "

The glare continued.

Buffy sighed. "Okay. Right. No burning, no bombing. You take all the fun out of life, you know that?"

'I believe," Giles said frostily, "That that is in the job description." After a second, he asked, "Do we have any other suggestions?"

I didn't have any. And even if I had had something reasonable, I wouldn't have shared it then. "I probably shouldn't need to say this." I said non-suggestively, "But be careful. Please."

Sentimental? Me?

No point in hiding it now. Veronica Mars still might not be a marshmallow, but she's long since figured out that she has friends, and even occasionally manages not to treat them as though they were commodities to be used rather than people. Buffy's death would pretty much automatically lose me the bet, true, but by this point that was simply extra incentive, and extra incentive only.

I liked Buffy. Over the course of my time here, she'd become an actual friend, rather than someone I'd known because I watched her on a TV show.

Buffy, meanwhile, grinned wryly and said, "So there go my plans to lure them out by dowsing myself in blood and steak sauce and standing in the middle of the graveyard going, 'here, vampy, vampy'," huh? Oh well. Guess I'll have to do this the good old-fashioned way."  
And that, as they say, was more or less that.

X X X X X

As we left, I pulled Xander aside. We ended up in a spare classroom.

"What do you want?" he asked, curtly but not meanly.

"I'll tell you in a second," I said.

"Why? What –"

His question was answered the second Cordelia came through the door.

"And what exactly did you think we were doing in here?" I asked. For the record, I was standing behind the teacher's desk and Xander was leaning against the outer wall.

"Um – " Cordelia said.

"And don't go telling me that you needed to find us for something Giles needed," I said, "Because we just came from there and he would have told us."

"I was just –"

Cordelia, in the parlance, had done the universe a solid, so I let her off the hook. "Xander knows that I know, too," I said. "We're not in here making out or doing anything like that. You have absolutely no reason to be jealous. At all."

Xander and Cordelia each gave me dirty looks. I shrugged and said, "It's not my fault the two of you don't communicate," I said. "I'm currently relationship-free and reasonably happy about it." I'd more or less just gotten back together with Logan when the bet happened, but, as I've said before, a Logan newly shedding "Obligatory psychotic jackass" is not a Logan two years older and somewhat more mature. So if I was going to date anyone in this universe – unlikely, given that we were in the bottom of the ninth – it would be Logan, or at least, would wait until such a possibility was completely off the table. Over the course of the last few months, we've been nowhere near ready.

Cordelia opened her mouth, closed it, and then said, irritably but not unreasonably, "Then why the hell won't either of you tell me what you're talking about?"

"Because it's not your business," I said. "It has nothing to do with not trusting you. I wouldn't tell Buffy; I haven't even told Sheila."

"Willow doesn't know, either," Xander said. "Neither does Giles. And they're not going to."

"That's because it's not their business, either," I said. "This is something private that Xander and I are working on. It has nothing to do with you, with Buffy's business, or with a mad passionate affair that Xander and I are conducting in secret. He's not my type, anyway." He really wasn't. "No offense, Xander."

He shrugged. "None taken." And he apparently meant it. Good. "Anyway, Cor, what it comes to is whether you trust us."

"You," she said, pointing to me, "I know you're willing to lie through your teeth."

"Only under certain circumstances. This isn't one of them."

"I guess I have to trust you," Cordelia said, addressing Xander. "But this had better be important."

"It is," I said.

"Good." Without another word, she turned and left.

Xander said, after a few seconds. "Whew. Well, then –"

I held up a finger and walked over to the classroom door, then threw it open.

Cordelia was a hundred feet down the hall and clearly hadn't sprinted to get there. She turned around and said, "Please!" and kept going.

When I shut the door again, Xander said, "She wasn't there, was she?"

"Not even close," I said as I moved back behind the teacher's desk.

"I could have told you that," he said. "Cordelia's got too much dignity for that."

I shrugged. "This is Sunnydale. Better to check than not."

"Anyway," he said, "I assume this is about Lilly."

"Yup," I said. "That's the other reason Dad and I were at the party yesterday."

"I assume you found no smoking gun," he said. "Or rock, in this case." And Grim Xander was back in the room.

"The police, unfortunately, were there to take in an attempted murderer, not an actual one," I said. "Still, we found a lot more lack of character witnesses."

"I hope that waitress isn't one of them," Xander said.

Hmmm. They hadn't called her during the trial in my timeline, so – "I wouldn't think so. Depends how desperate the prosecution gets. Still, Dad seemed pretty psyched about what he'd gotten. He didn't tell me everything, but with the tape of him and Lilly, the tape of him and Holly Takamura, and these witnesses? I think we're pretty good." Of course, we'd had more in the original timeline – he'd tried to murder me, I'd been alive to bear witness, and nothing had happened to him.

And then there was the wish.

"Remember the wish Anyanka granted?" I asked.

"Yeah," Xander said.

"What do you think of it?"

He blinked. "It had a nice rhythm and I could dance to it. What the hell do you mean, Veronica?"

"I mean, do you think it could help us in trying to get him convicted?"

"Lynn Echolls wished that Aaron would be the man his PR department made him out to be, right?" I nodded; that was close enough. Frowning, Xander said, "His PR department makes him out to be half Sylvester Stallone and half Mike Brady. That makes him an action hero who's devoted to his family." Neither one of which necessarily equated to honest or guilty. I should have known it wouldn't be this easy.

"Well, I don't the action hero part's going to do us any good," I said. "Unless he goes and gets himself killed trying to do some stupid stunt."

Xander brightened for a second. "Maybe we could tell him about vampires and encourage him to 'protect his family'."

"With our luck," I said, "The vampires would decide to turn him instead."

"Yes, but then Buffy could kill him," Xander said.

"Point," I said. "Well, that's not something we can directly influence." I looked at Xander. "Don't directly influence him."

"How could I?"

"I can just see you coming up with some scheme worthy of Lucy Ricardo," I said. "Look. If this doesn't make him confess, we've got enough to go to the police."

"The Sunnydale police? Good luck."

That was a good point. Unfortunately. And the murder had taken place solidly in the jurisdiction of the Sunnydale Sheriff's Office. Dad could take it to the state cops; he'd probably have to to get any action. With Wilkins wanting people's attention away from Sunnydale, and Lamb's natural tendency to suck up to the rich and powerful, they could have videotape, forensic evidence so blatant Barney Fife could find it, and the Pope and Nelson Mandela as eyewitnesses, and the locals would still say, "I dunno. What else you got?"

"Yeah, I know," I said. "Anyway, that's pretty much it. I just wanted to keep you in the loop. We are getting closer." Whether this universe would last long enough for close to become close enough would be another story.

"Thanks," he said. "I do appreciate it. Even if I still want to do to him what he did to Lilly."

"You and me both," I said.

We then went our separate ways, Xander probably to beg Cordelia's forgiveness.

Me?

I was off to do some thinking.

Subject:

Should I or shouldn't I?

X X X X X

Afterword: Okay. I know what my answer is going to be, but I'd like to hear y'all's arguments on the topic.

When it comes to going after Spike and Drusilla now, mid-season 2, should Veronica:

Help Buffy?

Warn Spike and Dru?

Or stay out of it and let the chips fall where they may?

You can email me, or if your answer's short enough you can leave it in your review. If I use your thought process, even to argue against, I'll credit you.

Thanks –

Rob aka Mediancat 


	76. The Choice

Author's Note: Most of this chapter is Veronica thinking things over. As such, though Veronica is doing her best to be logical, there may be flaws in her reasoning and the narrative may be a bit disjointed.

And: I asked, and I got over thirty responses, ranging from short to a page or more in length, detailing their arguments, and I got some for all three cases. It helped sharpen this chapter immensely.

So: To Shieldage, DonSample, Silverfish, Shikome Kido Mi, BTL, Ansku, Misslinglink, Ben, Ponder, EarnestScribbler, Silverwave, Speakertocustomers, Pierdalumbre, Wilkens, Frardowin, wickedfire, dspyre, CmdrUhura, RachelK, StephanieBHall, KWJordan, Allen pitt, Hollow, Tater, Absconding Cascade, PatM, Greywizard, Caminus, Carandol, Marcel, Duchess, Arkeus, Imzadi, daisuke, ironic-hat, lubof, sobriety, curius, HowardRussell, purpleorchid85, ghostdraconi, gabrieldarke, KJA, and anyone else I might have missed, thank you for your arguments, your viewpoints, and your opinions. They were much appreciated.

X X X X X

Thinking, now.

Part of my thinking would have to be done while I did other things.

I'd called Dad and told him I would be a little late, but now I had to head to the office and do a couple of hours' worth of paperwork. Dad would be finishing up whatever paperwork only he could do that remained from the Viola Kerrigan case, and probably getting things in order with Lamb and company, if he hadn't taken care of that already.

The office work at Dad's office wasn't entirely mindless, but 95% of it I could take care of with 5% of my attention, leaving my brain more or less free to ruminate, hard, over my next course of action.

The best-laid plans of Mars and men, alas.

I got to the office to find Dad standing just inside, waiting for someone. The someone turned out to be me.

"We have to go," he said, and he didn't look happy about it.

"Go where?"

"The Sheriff's Office," he said.

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it, I was elsewhere, I have witnesses, and I'll sue for harassment."

"Nothing like that," Dad said. "Lamb decided he wants your perspective tonight, 'while it's fresh'."

"I'm elsewhere, I have witnesses, and I'll sue for harassment."

"Sorry, sweetie," he said, ushering me towards the door. "Think of it like ripping off a band aid."

"Can I think of it like punching a really annoying person in the face?" I asked hopefully.

"Sure," Dad said as we got in his car. "You can think of it like that all you want."

Translation, no hitting the not-so-nice sheriff. Pooh.

X X X X X

The meeting was better than I'd hoped. Which meant it was simply mind-numbingly dull instead of just short of actual torture, the way most of Lamb's interrogations were.

Still. It was the dictionary definition of "two hours of my life I'll never get back," and if Lamb learned anything he didn't know yesterday, I'll french Drusilla the next time I see her.

I managed to restrain myself from murdering Lamb. That alone should get me into Heaven.

At around 6:30, Lamb, unable to think of any creative way to ask me "and what happened after Lynn Echolls stormed upstairs" for the fifth time, finally let me go. Dad, in the meantime, had been going over his report with one of Lamb's deputies; one of the smarter ones, too, because Dad had apparently only needed to explain everything twice. It was no wonder Lamb had gotten the job once Dad had been recalled; he was smarter than the rest of these goons put together.

Hell, _Harmony _was smarter than the rest of them put together.

And it's not as though Lamb was breaking any records on IQ tests, himself.

Oy.

I grinned as we left the interview room and said, "Always a pleasure, Deputy," while letting my eyes tell Dad exactly what kind of pleasure it hadn't been.

"You know, Miss Mars," Lamb said, "That stopped being funny a long time ago."

"Your job as sheriff, on the other hand," I said, "Continues to be a laugh riot." I moved over to stand next to Dad.

"Are we done here, Don?" Dad asked pointedly.

"Oh, yeah," Lamb said.

"I trust you were cooperative with the nice Sheriff?" Dad asked.

"Answered every question," I said. "Sometimes as many as five times."

"Get out of here," Lamb said.

We got.

X X X X X

Dad gave me a pass on paperwork for the night, even though I volunteered. We scarfed up a quick pizza and then he headed back to the office.

There had been no news story about Aaron Echolls confessing, retiring from film, apologizing,to Lynn, or getting himself killed trying some stupid stunt, so whatever effect the wish had was staying strictly in private for now. My only possible witness, Logan, wasn't talking anyway, not that I could blame him.

So. At home.

Time to ruminate.

Leaving aside practical considerations – such as, could I help Buffy locate the vampires' headquarters if I decided to help her, or could I find a way to communicate with them if I decided to warn them – There were three alternatives.

One was helping Buffy to the best of my ability.

Two was warning the vampires that the Slayer was out for blood, and to not be overconfident.

Three was sitting on my hands and doing nothing and just letting things play out, the way I did with _Inca Mummy Girl_ and _Reptile Boy_.

Let's go through the ramifications in reverse order.

I was least likely to go for option three in any case, but to be thorough I had to consider it.

This covered any variation on not doing anything: Whether I stayed in Sunnydale and kept to myself, or I ran for my life. Not that I was likely to do the latter, but if Dad tumbled to the truth about Sunnydale he and I and Backup would be packed up and out of here just as soon as we could, and that was more or less the same thing.

So. Sitting on my hands. Not something I'm good at, but this isn't a talent show.

This isn't necessarily about what I want, either – this is about what needs to be done. Per the bet, I'm supposed to be changing things around here for the better. Whether I'd done that so far was anyone's guess.

Of course, that was one of the things, maybe the main one, making this decision so hard. I'd already changed enough that, while individual episodes were still things I could change – I couldn't think of anything I'd done to alter Bad Eggs, for instance – the overall storyline was very much in flux.

So doing nothing would simply let whatever I'd done so far play out, which had Buffy confronting a Drusilla in the prime of health and lunacy, and a slightly damaged Spike. (I didn't really have a lot to go on, but I was assuming that a vampire with a broken arm, particularly a smart and cunning one like Spike, was still pretty damned dangerous to the average person on the street, if somewhat less so to Buffy, even at her current level of experience.)

That was one thing I had to remember, also: Mid-second-season Buffy wasn't as good a fighter as she was later. She'd had over a year of experience, and she was still damned good. But taking on Spike and Dru?

She could, of course. I wasn't underestimating her, either. But I don't think it would be anywhere near a guaranteed win even in season seven.

And those two things together pretty much out paid to any notion of sitting this one out. There was no way I was going to win the bet with the Adversary if I just stood by and watched –

Unless that was the 'lesson' he was trying to teach me. The Adversary never put any limitations on me researching him, and it had come up in the course of my phony search for Epimetheus anyway, that his 'bets' were always about teaching someone a lesson.

Maybe mine was supposed to be about arrogance, thinking that I could change things for the better. If so, it was a lesson I was determined not to learn, because if you give up thinking you can change things for the better, what's the point in doing anything?

"If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do." Angel's words were glib, and you had to hear them the right way or it just sounded like he was contradicting himself, but they rung true.

Anyway. No. the bet was still whether I could make things better, not whether I could learn to stand around while things happened around me.

And if I did nothing, it was reasonable to assume that Buffy had a better chance of ending up dead or badly injured.

So, that much was settled, at least. I was going to have to do something. The question was, what.

(Running screaming into the night? Not an option. Also a spectacularly bad idea, particularly in Sunnydale.)

And assuming 'going catatonic' and 'waking up a la Normal Again' were also off the table, that left trying to manipulate Spike and Drusilla into leaving town, or doing my level best to help Buffy blow them off the face of the planet.

Note: the choice is between helping them both, and killing them both. Killing just Drusilla? Bad idea. Bad, bad idea, considering what that would do to Spike, in the short run, and probably the long. That Spike would never be a good guy, or even think of it. All he'd be is out for vengeance. Not a good idea.

So: what were the arguments for helping out the vampires, instead of helping out Buffy?

One was preserving the future as best as I could.

Drusilla didn't do a whole hell of a lot on Buffy past this season – I think she only showed up for Crush and in flashbacks – but she did things on Angel.

But were any of those irreplaceable? She'd re-envamped Darla, yeah. But it wasn't like she was the only vampire on the planet, or probably even the only one willing to work with Darla as they rampaged across Los Angeles. They'd massacred the Wolfram & Hart crew, but Darla and random vampire X were perfectly capable of that their own selves.

Beyond that? Nothing. (In dramatic terms, I was always annoyed that they hadn't done more with her. I've said it before, but it's worth repeating: Drusilla is the second best completely insane character ever created in fiction. Only the Joker tops her, and that only when he's done well.)

So Drusilla could be comfortably excised from the future timeline without causing too much of a ripple.

Spike, though . . .

Between the end of this season and season 4, not much. Lover's Walk? Well, that was crucial for the plot; without Spike's trenchant analysis, maybe Buffy and Angel keep thinking they can make things work (possibly necessary whether Angel becomes Angelus and goes to hell or not), and Cordelia and Oz don't catch on to Xander and Willow's plot-device affair (assuming that happens, if I'm still here and I know about it, it won't, if I have to sit between them for a solid month. That? One of the most blatantly offensive manipulations ever on the show. It was perfunctory and clearly only there just to break up Xander and Cordelia. Horrible.)

Assuming, then. If Cordelia and Xander don't break up, there's no Wish, no Dopplegangland, which may or may not have given Willow a push towards realizing her own sexual identity. No Wish meant no Anyanka, which meant no Anya, which meant no Xander-Anya relationship, which meant no Anya with the Scoobies. But that ship had already sailed, almost certainly, because Cordelia, now knowing what a vengeance demon could do, probably wouldn't be stupid enough to make her "I wish Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale" wish.

That was the problem, I supposed, with changing things around like I'd done. The best analysis I could do was nothing more than educated guesswork. I wasn't omniscient, or even nearly so. What I had was information about a timeline that no longer quite existed.

"All that matters is what I do." Fine. Let's say excising Spike from _Lover's Walk _doesn't do a lot of long-run damage. Just for the sake of moving on.

Moving on to season 4: Spike provided some information about the Initiative. Without him, maybe Buffy and the gang don't clue in to what's happening quite quickly as they do in the main timeline.

That shifts to season 5, where he helps protect Dawn – from the monster in the cavern, from Glory. Without him to torture, maybe Glory picks someone else – even though they wouldn't talk, either, they'd heal a lot less quickly. (And without Spike they don't get the stolen RV as they all get the hell out of Sunnydale.)

Season 6? The Buffy- Spike affair can be safely removed from the universe without any repercussions, I'd think. Yes, it let Buffy feel something after being ripped out of heaven. But that's pretty much it, not to downplay how important that was. I don't think Buffy would have committed suicide without it. Maybe it would have just taken her longer to get out of her (understandable) funk.

(And let's not get into the rape. Helpful hint: If you ever want to get a group of Buffy fans into a screaming match, the quickest way is to start a discussion on Spike's near-rape of Buffy. I very quickly learned to never bring it up, or suggest that I'd been thinking about it myself. Cindy MacKenzie in a near-homicidal rage? Not a picture that's easy to call up. Nor is it easy to let go, once you've seen it.)

And season 7. Ah, yes. Spike doesn't do a whole lot of the good until the very end, but watch that last step, bud, it's a doozy.

Of course, then there's season 5 Angel – Spike was a part of the final battle. A big part. Of course, since we don't really know what happened after that – did everyone die? Did Buffy and Company pull off a last-second save? Spike's effect there isn't completely clear.

(Remember, if didn't happen on the show, it didn't happen. The comics are _not_ continuity. They're Joss Whedon's fanfiction.)

So removing Spike would have a lot of effect on the timeline.

And that's not even considering what it would do to the rest of season 2.

Had I done enough to prevent Angelus? Everyone knew about the escape clause in Angel's curse now. Was that enough to prevent sex?

Was it at least enough to prevent sex without better-not-completely-lose-myself-in-the-moment hanging over everyone's heads?

Again, when all of this started, I'd thought that that would be my moment of truth: Whether to stop Buffy and Angel from having sex. As I have already noted, I was wrong.

(Either that, or the bottom of the ninth was going to go on for a while. Which I suppose would be a good thing, now that I think about it. If one continues the Adversary's baseball metaphor, if a baseball game _makes_ the bottom of the ninth it means the game is either tied or I'm behind. I wasn't so sure the metaphor needed to be taken completely literally, but you get the point.)

Assuming _that_ played out, a substantially healthier Spike would make for a decidedly different dynamic than the one in the original timeline, anyway. A lot harder for Angelus to sweep in and take over when Spike is on his feet and ready to fight back against what he thinks are bad ideas.

Okay, were there any other arguments for warning Spike and Drusilla? That it would make the future more interesting didn't rate. "Interesting" was only a helpful quality if one was sitting on the outside of a timeline, watching it for entertainment purposes. I was solidly inside this one, and even assuming that I would and could be removed at some point, everyone else still had to live through it. "May you live in interesting times" was considered a powerful curse for a reason.

I was also leaving aside any other storyline-based arguments that don't hold water when you're living through it.

So, the argument in favor of warning Spike and Dru boiled down to wanting to preserve the timeline as best as I could.

Arguments against?

One could start off with the fact that the timeline had already been mucked beyond all hell and that attempting to preserve the Buffyverse I remembered was a task worthy of Sisyphus.

You don't think the timeline's been irrevocably changed? Here's what I've managed to "accomplish" in the last three-plus months.

Everyone knows about vengeance demons. More particularly, Cordelia knows who Anya is. Hard to bring around a stealth wish when the person you're sneaking up on knows you, and what disasters you can bring about, on sight. For reasons I've already detailed, that could end up with no Anya.

Everyone knows that Jenny Calendar is Jana Calderash. And everyone knows about Angel's curse, and the conditions that were placed on it. That could lead to no Angelus, which would mean Ms. Calendar's long-term survival, which could also mean that Kendra survived past the end of the season, which would mean no Faith. Or a later Faith.

Spike's not spending months in a wheelchair, but weeks with his arm in a sling. And Buffy knew he and Drusilla were alive, so could think about going after them rather than assuming that they were dead just because the church they were in had partially burned and turned to rubble.

Willow is interested in magic about six months earlier than she was originally. She seemed to be taking it slower, and listening to Rae's advice rather than trying to figure it out on her own, but she still knew about it, and knew she had a tremendous amount of power.

Sheila Kelly is alive. And she knows she's a witch. And she's somewhat on the side of the good guys, at least when it comes to fighting vampires.

Amy Madison is dead. No BBB, an altered Gingerbread, and no one to lure Willow to Rack's in season 6, assuming Willow's even on tilt like that at that point.

I'm sure I'm missing things. I'm intentionally leaving out things like "Got rid of Ted a week early" and "killed Norman Pfister instead of the Cyclops" and "ended _Halloween_ and _the Dark Age_ earlier than in canon." I was thinking about things that had long-term ramifications on the timeline. I suppose _The Dark Age_ ending early could result in some changes to Ethan Rayne's attitude, but that was so vague and nebulous that I really couldn't justify factoring it in.

So one could easily argue that the timeline was already shot to hell anyway.

Second, of course, is that in attempting to preserve the timeline I would be guaranteeing that other people would die. I was trying to make the place better, after all, and Spike had more than a year post-season-2 to kill people, and Drusilla survived to the end of both series.

I'm not even sure I can ballpark how many people that is, but let's aim low and say fifteen hundred combined.

That's fifteen hundred people who'd be alive if Spike and Drusilla were killed. (Yes, included in that number are probably some who would have died anyway. I'm not sure of those stats and really can't be bothered to look them. Let's just say "fourteen hundred sixty-four," if that makes you happier, okay?)

Fifteen hundred people living who would otherwise be dead is a pretty powerful argument.

Boiling it down, now.

The best argument in favor of warning Spike and Drusilla is to try to preserve what I can of the original timeline; that Spike, at least, still has important things to do, and that killing him now would change things irrevocably.

The arguments against: It would save a lot of lives, and the timeline was already irrevocably changed anyway.

Shit. Of course. I wasn't thinking clearly. I'd almost fallen victim to paralysis by analysis; the longer I spent agonizing over whether to change, and what to change if I did, the more likely things would be to go on without my intervention.

_And I wasn't here to preserve the timeline, anyway._ The terms of my bet included nothing about maintaining the timeline; hell, it was almost the exact opposite. I was supposed to make things better.

Desperately attempting to steer things back on the original course was conceding that I'd been wrong to mess with the timeline in the first place.

Which would pretty much guarantee that I would lose the bet.

And that settled things. I was going to intervene; and I was going to my best to make sure Spike and Drusilla didn't make it to 1998.

It might lose me the bet, but that was okay with me.

I might _lose_, but I would be damned if I was going to _concede_.


	77. Out to Find, Out to Fight

Of course, saying I was going to help Buffy, and actually helping her, were two different things. I might have been spinning like my life depended on it when me and the Scoobies were hashing the subject out in the library, but I wasn't exactly lying. It was going to be just short of impossible to track down Spike and Drusilla's lair - at least, not by research alone.

Of course, there was always surveillance; tailing a vampire back to 'headquarters.'Problem with that in this town, of course, was that A, that vampire might see you, or B, some other vampire might see you. So, probably not high on the list.

Which brought it back to finding a vampire and beating it out of them, or using a tracking spell, both of which were highly possible.

Those two options should be enough.

If it wasn't -

Well, I'd cross that bridge if I needed to come to it. There was a third option out there, though it was one I would use only if everything else was going to hell.

(And no, the option was _not_ "Ask Drusilla." Suicide? Not in my plans at the moment. She might tell me, but then, she'd have to kill me. Or she'd tell me and then she'd tell Spike. Or she'd tell me, "The lost city of Atlantis." I liive too close to the edge already; this would be throwing myself over it.)

So. Plans made. Decisions, etc. And since I wasn't being hauled up in judgment before the Adversary I had to assume that the game wasn't over yet.

In the meantime, sleep. Perchance, not to dream.

X X X X X

Well, perchance to dream, but neither about the Adversary nor Lilly. Not soothing; apocalyptic. But being magic-null I was probably the only being in Sunnydale who could have a dream about the end of the world and not actually have to worry about it coming true.

If I saw a porcupine, though, I was running for the hills.

Don't ask.

I left this morning and once again saw a certain familiar short blonde outcast standing in the parking lot. "You know," I told Buffy as I walked up to her, "You do have to sleep sometime."

"Not as much as you'd think," she said, stifling a yawn. "Guess that would've come off better without the yawn, huh?"

I grinned and said, "Don't think I don't appreciate the effort, but keeping my peace of mind? Not on the top ten list of Slayer things to do, I'm guessing. Might be a good idea to have you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when it comes to killing the vampires."

"Yeah," she said. "Still -"

"Look," I said seriously. "I _do_ appreciate this. Really. But I can survive a couple of nights while we hash out how best to find and destroy Spike and Drusilla." I gestured for her to get into the LeBaron.

As we both got in and I started the car, she said, "Don't think I didn't notice that we, but are you sure about that?"

I sighed. "No, but that doesn't make 'you need your sleep' any less right. If it makes you feel better to spot check, come on out and spot check. But try to at least keep up to the point where you're not going to be falling asleep in your corn flakes."

After a second, she sad, "Okay. Now, about that we . . . ."

"Yeah, I decided to give it my best shot, whether sleuthing would help or not. I still don't think computer searches are going to be all that helpful, but I'll still do what I can. Whatever that is."

"Still don't want to be in the same room when everything hits the fan, though, right?

"I don't want to be on the same _planet_. Unfortunately, that's not really much of an option."

X X X X X

I caught up with Sheila between classes and asked her, if she had to, if she might be up for another tracking spell.

"'course. What do you need tracked?"

"Not what, who. That crazy vampire who's been stalking me. And her boyfriend."

"I'll do it," she said with a kind of grim eagerness that made me worry.

"The enthusiasm? Nice. Not necessary at the moment. We're going to be trying other options first. Just making sure you're ready to be a backup plan." Despite Sheila's jones for killing Drusilla - who'd managed to scare the living hell out of me twice in recent memory, not to mention having brutally murdered ten people - I was no more eager to throw her into the line of fire than she was eager to have me in it. I had friends, remember. I used my friends. I'd done it with Wallace, I'd done it with Mac, and I was going to tamp it down if it killed me.

And take that literally.

"Absolutely, manhunter," she said. "Anything you need."

"Thanks. Anyway, how're your spells going?"

"Mostly good. Workin' on the darkness one. Wanna see after school?"

"I'll let you know. We're going to try a few other methods of tracking first. At the magic store?"

"Yeah," she said. "Though I could do it at home tonight." I didn't need to ask why. Obviously Mabel aka Grace Kelly was going to be entertaining her clients elsewhere this evening.

We went our separate ways.

X X X X X

Nothing else was hanging fire, save for a bit of schoolwork I hadn't done the first time around, and which I spent time less time doing than I just spent writing about. So my day passed quickly and uneventfully. I even turned down an offer to find out who was blackmailing a senior, because honestly, at this point I had better things to do.

I had, for far too long, kept up the pretense that I was Veronica Mars, girl detective, the same way I had been in my original timeline. I was, but I wasn't.

Take that, law of contradiction.

I'd gone through the motions of finding my rapist, and trying once again to prove that Aaron Echolls had killed Lilly. I'd had to, to be me, and to avoid having the people here who "knew" me get too suspicious.

But, just like I wasn't here to preserve the timeline, I wasn't here to relive my own, either. I might not be able to prove that Warren raped me, though I was damn sure he had.

And _this_ Aaron Echolls might never be brought to justice while I was around to see it. I might never see the end of that particular storyline.

(And yes, I was now thinking of my own life as having storylines, and not thinking that that was so unusual. I could make some grand philosophical statement about that, except me? Not really much for the grand philosophical statements. It was just an easier way to phrase things. The lines between realities can get pretty damn blurred sometimes, particularly when you're right in the middle of one that shouldn't exist.)

The point was, though, is that _right now_, the me that was exclusively a detective had to take a back seat, in this universe, to the me that was trying to change things. I had to be, as fully as I could, the Veronica Mars who was just visiting this universe, not the one who belonged here. The me who belonged here would still have Aaron Echolls as a priority.

And – much as I hated it – I couldn't. Not and not, effectively, concede.

No matter that I'd hashed out my, and Dad's, progress on the Aaron situation with Xander yesterday. If things somehow continued – if the status stayed quo – I'd get back to it. If Aaron and his new wish-enhanced life didn't take care of it for me, somehow.

But for that to occur, something would have to go in a direction I wasn't currently considering. Which, admittedly, wouldn't be the first time.

Wouldn't even be the hundredth.

Made it through the day without much else in the way of incident, though Logan noticed me turning down the case. "Veronica Mars turning down a mystery?" he asked. "Is all not well in the land of cut-rate detectiving?" 

Mockery, but reasonably gentle mockery. None of the hard edge his insults used to have.

"All is fine in that land," I said. "And in my own land of highly skilled detective work, it's even better."

"Then why turn down a job? I know it;s not because you're suddenly flush with filthy lucre."

"I have other things on my mind at this point." Logan was not getting involved in the tracking down of Spike or Drusilla. I wouldn't be getting Sheila involved, except she'd do it with or without my permission. "Nothing more." After a second, I added, "Filthy lucre? _Really_?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? I like the phrase and don't really get the opportunity to use it that often."

"Makes as much sense as anything else you do."

"Best I can hope for, I suppose," he said, and went on his way.

Note that I asked him nothing at all about the events at the Christmas party. He seemed to be in a somewhat more pleasant mood and I had no intention of all of knocking him out of it. His life was hard enough right now; I wasn't going to intentionally make it harder.

And if that doesn't prove I'm not the Veronica Mars I used to be, nothing will.

X X X X X

At the end of the day, I collected as many of the Scooby Gang as I could (Buffy, Willow) and Sheila (who said, "'snot like I've had time to come up with a spell, manhunter," but didn't actually protest me dragging her along.

"Miss Mars?" Giles said. "Not that your presence isn't always welcomed, but, um, whence your presence?"

"I was thinking about our conversation of last night," I said. "And maybe I jumped the gun a little when I said I might not be able to help track down Spike and Drusilla." I got a strange look from Giles. "It is daytime," I said.

He chuckled. "Right. So it is."

"And that makes a difference why?" Willow asked.

"'cause manhunter's being stalked by that bitch Drusilla," Sheila said. "Sun goes down, she might be listening in."

"Oh." Willow's voice contained a distinct tone of "I should have thought of that myself."

"No big thing," I said. "Look. There may be things I can do strictly on the computer, and in the middle of broad daylight well away from sewer entrances, that might help me track down where they're holding up. Alternatively, Sheila's working on a tracking spell. Which," I said firmly, "She will use only when I say, and will also stick to the middle of broad daylight, well away from sewer entrances. Right?"

"You think you're the boss of me?" Sheila asked, with just a hint of genuine irritation.

"Just a concerned friend," I said.

Grumpily, she said, "Sure. Go that route." 

"Whatever keeps you from getting killed," I said cheerfully. "And there's a third alternative, one that doesn't require any fancy detecting on my part – though it might take my interrogation skills."

"You want to do what we did with that vamp in the warehouse," Buffy said, catching on right away.

"Not quite the same thing, but close enough," I said. "Or you could just beat it out of them, if you or Angel find yourself in the mood to be hitting something."

"Or, perhaps," Giles suggested, "We could attempt all three. Buffy, it might might be advisable to get in touch with Angel tonight -"

"Will do," Buffy said. "Might take a day to set up another hidey-place, but it's definitely on the doable side of things."

"What's wrong with the one we used before?"

"They're actually using it as a warehouse now."

"Is that even allowed?" Willow asked. "'cause I'm fairly sure that violates some law."

"I would think," Giles said, "We would prefer their use as warehouses instead of hiding places for our assorted nemeses."

"Point to Mr. Giles," I said.

"They don't hand out the title of Watcher to any fool off the street," Giles said. "Miss Kelly? Will you need any assistance?"

"Naaah. I got the books and I got Rae or you to ask if've got trouble figuring something out. I'm good."

"Can I help?" Willow asked eagerly.

Sheila seemed less than thrilled by the possibility of this, so I said, "Baby steps, remember?"

"I know," Willow grumbled. "But I'd like to _do _something. Something besides reading and studying and meditating."

"Hey, meditating helped me get this far," Sheila said. Which was only half a point, because Sheila's meditation technique resembled none other on this earth. Or my own earth, for that matter. She's the only person I've ever seen who comes out of meditation with an evil grin on her face.

Not a _placid_ evil grin, either.

Willow, however, didn't particularly know this part, and said, resignedly, "Okay. But I'd like to start learning some real magic soon."

Note to self: If I stay in this universe, redouble efforts to get Giles and Rae and Ms. Calendar and anyone else to make sure she _slows down_. This time around, it would be nice if ability didn't run laps around maturity and knowledge. "Well," I said, "Instead of that, you can help me. I bow to no one in my mastery of searching online but my hacking skills are strictly limited." Always had been; that's what I'd had Mac around for. "I can come over tonight and we can brainstorm."

"Will you be needing me to hack into anything?" Willow asked eagerly, then, looking up at Giles, said, "Not that I would do that or anything, because it's wrong! And bad!"

The look on Giles' face was the epitome of "Not fooled and don't care," but to keep up appearances he said, "And perhaps if I knew more about what that was, I would be properly offended."

Buffy wasn't fooled, by either Willow or Giles – you could tell by the grin on her face – but all she said was, "And everyone else stays out of the line of fire, right?" Xander and Cordelia likely wouldn't have had parts anyway – except maybe for Xander going on donut runs while Cordelia bitched about all the more interesting things she could be doing, while, you will note, not actually going anywhere – and as for Ms. Calendar, she was actually busy grading tonight, so she wasn't up for helping anyway.

Barring imminent apocalypse status, and we weren't quite there, yet.

"As much as they can, in Sunnydale," I said. "Anyone else have any ideas?"

"Since when were you made leader?" Buffy asked with mock irritation.

"Since the beginning of this meeting, because detective work is my specialty," I said. "I now turn the reins of command back over to you, O fearless leader."

"Smartass," Buffy said.

"You're just now figuring this out?" Willow asked.

The meeting broke up, and, Willow coming with me, we went our separate ways.

Bottom of the ninth, huh?

I got a couple more at bats left in me.


	78. Bring on Tonight

Cut to my car. Willow and I are having a polite disagreement. For the moment, since getting almost anywhere in Sunnydale doesn't take more than about a 15-minute drive, we're driving around until we finish.

'But I know my computer better," Willow said. "You know, if we need any hacking done. Or anything."

"Special tools?" I asked.

"Yuppers." After a second. "You don't have any obligations to local law enforcement, do you?"

"Remember who the local sheriff is and my general opinion of law enforcement in Sunnydale," I said. "Even if I did have any obligations beyond those of anyone else, I wouldn't turn you in to Deputy Lamb if I had ironclad proof that you were going to murder someone. I might as well just dump the evidence directly down the sewers."

"Ah. Right. They're really not very good, are they?"

"Not since the Mayor fired my dad, they're not." After a second, "Anyway, I have my own tools available at the office." Dad's PI-related software. Not quite as sophisticated as it would be in about ten years, but still, stuff not available to the average citizen. I explained this to Willow.

"So, who says we need to choose?" Willow said. "We'll go to your dad's office first, and then we'll head back to my place, which has the extra added bonus of not being accessible to vampires."

"You've never let Angel in?" She had during _Lie to Me_, of course, but this time around Angel had come to me instead of Willow, and I don't think she'd gotten around to extending a formal invitation in the interim.

She hadn't. "Nope. And at the moment with the thing where he might get happy and be evil again hanging over us I don't really think I'm going to either. I did a little reading on Angelus, when Giles wasn't looking. He doesn't sound very nice."

You don't know the half of it, Willow, though I can't exactly tell you that even now. "I can't imagine most vampires would," I said.

"Yes, but he sounds worse."

"I'll take your word for it," I said, having to do no such thing. "I get enough human depravity, so, wanting to hear about the depravity of the undead? Not on my to-do list. Anyway, you're right. Let's do both."

X X X X X

Dad was still there at the office; he had given strict orders to me not to be there by myself, and with Drusilla, aka my friendly neighborhood psychotic murdering stalker who thinks she's the Sephrenia to my Sparhawk, this was one time I wasn't going to be circumventing Dad's orders in either letter or spirit.

"So whatever you have to do," Dad said, "You have about a half hour."

"That should be enough for a good start," I said.

It was. Working together in that half hour, Willow and I were able to print out a list of abandoned buildings – and lists of technically non-abandoned buildings with absentee owners. This was assuming that they weren't holing up in a cave somewhere, but caves weren't really Spike or Drusilla's style. It was still a long list, far too long for any town of this size not named Sunnydale – if there had been this many abandoned places in Neptune the townsfolk would have had Woody Goodman's head on a stick outside the township borders (before they ever found he was a pedophile, even) – but it was still a lot shorter than "every building in town."

We'd just managed to remove residences from the latter list – absentee owners were still owners, and therefore by vampire law the buildings were still "occupied" – when Dad came out and said, "Okay, sweetie, and you too, Willow – time to go."

As I shut down the computer he asked a little too casually – and with Keith Mars never doubt that if you notice it's a little too casual? Not unintentional – "So, what were you girls looking up?"

"Oh," I said. "We're tracking down international jewel thieves. They'll never stand up to our pluckiness and derring-do."

"Veronica -" he said reproachfully.

"Okay, but you'll be sorry when we get the reward and don't cut you in," I said. "No, actually we're looking for a couple of homeless people." Which was stretching the truth only slightly. Dru and Spike were technically homeless, and they at least _looked_ like people.

He frowned, though it didn't seem to be out of irritation at me or Willow, who'd kept quiet throughout the whole thing. Of course, this was still when, in continuity, authority figures tended to intimidate her.

Made my job easier.

Of course, this was when Dad turned to Willow and said, "Is this true?"

"Oh!" Willow said. "Yes! Very true. They don't have homes and we need to find them, so Buffy can give them something!" Pretty good spontaneous misdirection, even if she said it as though she were desperately trying to convince a firing squad not to shoot her.

Dad looked from Willow to me and back again, but was apparently satisfied that we weren't trying to pull a fast one on him. "I don't need to tell you to be careful, Veronica; you know there aren't a lot of homeless people in Sunnydale." Yes, Dad, and I know the reason why, too, even if you're almost certainly being forcibly mentally blocked from doing so.

"Beyond careful. Willow and I are just doing research. Buffy and her boyfriend are doing the legwork." And how.

_Exeunt omnes,_ in various directions, Dad home, where he expected to see me within an hour and a half. "Tonight's the night for my famous tuna salad, sweetheart," he said.

"Famous?" Willow asked me as we headed to chez Rosenberg.

"His secret is pickles. Oops, now it's out and I have to kill you."

"But, if you did, Buffy would take her revenge!"

"Naaah, I can make it look like an accident."

"Then I'd better stay on your good side."

"You're just learning this now?"

X X X X X

I was just about to step through Willow's front door – through which she carefully did not invite me – when I got a phone call. I told Willow to go on and get things started and answered the phone with a "Hello?"

"Manhunter," Sheila said. "We got all the ingredients for the spell ready."

"Already?"

"I _did _do this before, remember. Little different focus this time but 'spretty much the same spell."

"Where are you?"

"Magic shop. Rae helped me with the ingredients."

"Good. That;s one way taken care of."

"One way?" Sheila said.

"Yeah. I think maybe the best thing to do is use all three. This isn't something we really want to get wrong."

"'Worked last time."

"We didn't have time to double and triple check. Here. I doubt Spike or Drusilla is going anywhere." After a few seconds during which I swear I could hear her exasperation, even though she didn't say anything, I said, "You really want to get this taken care of, don't you?"

"'sof yesterday, manhunter," she said. "But time travel's a spell I haven't gotten to yet." The words were light, but the tone most definitely was not.

"You _will_ wait, right?"

"I will," she said. "I'm not happy about it, but I will."

"Good. I still don't want you dead."

"That's one of the sweetest things anyone's ever said to me."

"I can't tell if you're serious or not, and with you? Not so sure I want to know. Thanks, Sheila."

"Anytime. Mean it."

She hung up without saying anything else, but, you know, I was reasonably sure she did.

"Veronica?" Willow said.

"That was Sheila," I said. "First batter got a hit."

"Huh?" she said.

"She's got the tracking spell ready. But we're not doing this just for the exercise, because while we need this done soon, we don;t need it done in the next half hour. So let's get upstairs and spend the next hour or so narrowing down this list using those tools Mr. Giles would neither understand nor condone."

"Right," she said, leading the way.

"First thing we're going to check is the SCE grid," I said. "Because Spike and Drusilla? Don't really seem like the type to be holing up in a place without power."

She nodded. "Good start," as she pushed what I took for her bedroom door all the way open. "And I can definitely do that . . ."

X X X X X

An hour later, I was walking downstairs, with Willow still working on narrowing down the field. So far, we'd managed to eliminate another hundred or so properties. Too decrepit; not getting power; or, in a couple of cases, too close to Buffy's house, such as the one Norman Pfister from Blush Beautiful cosmetics had taken over, which was actually still unoccupied. Buffy might not have noticed him, but Spike and Drusilla? Them, she would have noticed.

I looked outside, realizing as I did that it was almost pointless to do so; crazy as Drusilla was, she wasn't stupid enough to be standing there waiting for me in plain view – and that there were a dozen places she could be hiding where she could jump me before I got to my car, were she so inclined.

She wasn't, though that I'm even in the mindset to think to check? Stinks beyond the ability of words to express. I made it home without issue, though along the way I did call Mr. Giles, who was momentarily startled that I knew his home number until I reminded him that he was actually in the phone book, and updated him on what Willow and I and Sheila had done that evening.

"Buffy has not yet called in," Giles said when I was done. "Of course, it is only 7:15 PM. She may not have even have left her house yet."

"Nothing to worry about there," I said. "Meet tomorrow, usual spot?"

He agreed, and by the time I hung up I was more or less home.

X X X X X

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of my evening, unless you have a fanatical desire to hear about Dad's tuna salad, my nightly ablutions, or the homework I did in an even more distracted fashion than I have been for the rest of the two and a half months. (And if you really want to hear the details of my nightly ablutions, check yourself into the nearest mental hospital, because you're sicker than Drusilla.)

That night, though . . .

"I know the game's not over yet," I told the Adversary as we stood on top of a building – I couldn't tell what building, but it was in the middle of a generic city circa the 1970s, if the Pepsi Free he was drinking was any indication.

"It isn't," he said.

"Let me guess. The end is growing ever closer." A bit more high-faluting than I usually get, but my conversations with the Adversary? Tend to put me in that kind of mood. Not that, I really think, you can blame me. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Fidel Castro was actually a mediocre baseball player who never had a chance to make the major leagues, no matter what anyone else might tell you."

"Well, I can't say I knew that," I said. "So, what's the message this time? I'm a busy woman, you know."

"You're asleep, Miss Mars."

"And I'm still busy. Maybe if I wasn't dealing with you I might be able to dream up a solution to where Spike and Drusilla are. Or possibly world peace."

He laughed. "Probably not the latter."

"Once again, tell me something I don't know."

"There's something big coming tomorrow," he said.

_That_ got my attention. "Last batter third strike big?"

"Not quite," he said. "It's more like – a fight in the stands. A big one, as though you were at a soccer riot and not a Padres game."

When he didn't say anything else, I said, "That's it?"

"That's all you'll need."

"Well, then would you mind passing me some of that Pepsi Free? A girl does get parched while trying to decipher cryptic warnings."

He laughed, and a second later I woke up.

To the sound of the alarm, though, so at least this time he wasn't costing me any sleep.

A small mercy, but when you're dealing with entities on the scale of the Adversary? You take whatever you can get.

X X X X X

Buffy was waiting outside, again, though this time she said, "Got some sleep tonight, I promise."

"Well, you do have _fewer_ circles under your eyes . . ."

"You know, I _can_ hurt you."

"Yes, but you're not going to."

"And why not?" she said as we got into the LeBaron.

"Because it's wrong." Even as I said it, with as light a tone as I said it in, I realized that I was quoting from the episode "Who Are You?"

"Well, yeah, and?" Her tone was equally light.

"And my father would track you down and make you pay."

"He couldn't take me."

"You vs. Keith Mars? Maybe not so easy a fight as you think." True, Buffy would kick his ass in a fistfight, but Dad's smart enough to not let her get close enough. I put the odds at 50-50.

Buffy laughed, then said, "Just to be serious for a second, I didn't see Drusilla last night, and I didn't see her this morning either."

"Good," I said. "Incidentally, did you find a place where I can do my -" almost said Jack Bauer, bad idea, very bad idea – "Um, best imitation of a sadistic cop?"

"Several," Buffy said. "Angel's working on setting up one of them now."

"Tell Willow where."

"Huh?"

I said, "We're trying to eliminate as many places as we can, logically, from being where Drusilla and Spike are hiding out. Wherever the two of you looked, that's more places we can scratch off."

"Gotcha. Hey, do you mind if I flip on the radio?"

"Go ahead."

A song ended – by Aimee Mann, ironically enough, though I doubted I'd ever get to hear her explanation of why she hated playing vampire towns.

"Good morning, this is Dave Maleski; it's 7:00, time for the news. You may remember him from his roles in _The Long Haul_ or _Road to Dead_, or more recently for the troubles he's been having with his wife. But now, Aaron Echolls has a new concern: Us. Late last night, speaking with Jay Leno, Echolls made a shocking announcement."

Next came Aaron Echolls' voice, saying, "No, Jay. I've been doing some thinking since – since Lynn walked out. And you know what the last thing she said to me was? She told me she wished I was more like the characters I played."

Jay Leno's voice said, "She wants you to go around shooting bad guys and blowing up cars?" to the mild laughter of his audience.

"Not quite," Aaron said. "It took me a few days but I figured it out, and she was right. I need to be that kind of man. I need to do what's right, no matter the sins of my past. And you know the town I live in? Sunnydale? You know it has one of the highest murder rates in the country?"

"Really?"

"Really. And that's what she meant. I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to clean up Sunnydale. No matter who or what gets in my way."

Oh, look. A riot.


	79. Fortyfive to Go

Shit!

Well, of course.

Just when I think he's out, he drags himself back in.

And of course, don't think I didn't hear him mention "whatever sins he may have committed in his past," which sounded very much like he wasn't planning to confess to anything anytime soon.

Should I have stopped Anyanka from granting that wish, too? Maybe. But I'd run that particular bluff about as far as I could push it.

I must have let some of my irritation show – either that or I'd said the "shit" out loud – because Buffy looked at me and said, "Okay, I know why _I_ would say that. It sounds like he's ready to start a vigilante group or something, and that's not going to make keeping a secret identity any easier."

Not to mention, it would probably disconcert Mayor Wilkins, who really doesn't want much more attention drawn to this supposedly sleepy little town. Bad enough he's got a software tycoon and a Hollywood star _living_ here (and I had to wonder if the Adversary was purposely keeping some of the side effects of that under wraps, the way he obviously was keeping Dad from figuring out how unsafe Sunnydale was and hauling me out of here); he certainly didn't want that star bringing even more attention here than he already was.

"And this would be a vigilante group run by someone who attracts cameras like garbage does flies," I said, turning off the radio.

Buffy frowned; she hadn't thought of that. "Yeah. That too. But why does it piss you off? I know you're probably annoyed that our Spike hunt just got a lot more complicated, but that doesn't get people swearing like they just dropped their purse off a cliff. What about this's got you so pissed?"

A good question, and one I wasn't quite ready to be completely honest in answering, for several reasons, the most important of which was that I'd sworn off going after Aaron for the moment, and that telling even Buffy, who might not have known Lilly but had a strong enough sense of justice that there was a good chance that if I told her she'd beat the hell out of Aaron the next time she saw him, even if her personal code of ethics stopped her from killing him, would be adding to the riot atmosphere rather than cooling it down.

Fortunately, I had a good backup answer ready, which had the added bonus of being true. "One, he's an ass. He lied about what happened when Spike invaded the school, he hits on any woman over the age of puberty, and he's not remotely close to being father of the year, no matter how he might come across in public."

"And two?" Buffy asked. I was just pulling the LeBaron into the Sunnydale High parking lot.

"_This is from the wish_," I said. "Lynn Echolls said, 'I wish you were the person your image made you out to be.'_ And what kind of role does Aaron Echolls usually play?" _That wish could have been interpreted a half dozen different ways by a creative wish-granter. Anyanka was nothing, if not creative. I would have gone the "concerned family man" route, but apparently the vengeance demon had had other ideas.

"Action hero."

"Action hero," I echoed.

"So that means he's likely to get himself killed trying to stop a vampire attack he thinks is a mugging," Buffy said.

"Or to actually get together that vigilante group you were so worried about," I said. "That would be problematic." I had a sudden flash to the events of _Gingerbread_. I didn't think this would have nearly the effect that did, what with the complete lack of child-shaped demons mentally influencing everyone, but I could see vaguely similar problems popping up.

Of course, all I needed to be worried about was the immediate repercussions, not the long-term ones, because I likely wouldn't be around for the long-term.

Still ,the short-term could be bad enough. I didn't think that the Adversary had warned me about the "riot in the stands" just because it might be a slight distraction.

If I pushed the analogy, a riot in the stands would stop the game and possibly, if things got really bad, spill out onto the field and permanently disrupt things.

How that would affect the bet, I wouldn't predict, but I doubt it'd be to my benefit.

I'd stopped the car by this point and Buffy was looking at me oddly. "Problematic?"

"Something wrong with the word?"

"I know what it means, thank you," Buffy said wryly, though I hadn't been implying otherwise. "I was just thinking that's that's pretty majorly understated." Which is also an understatement. But _that_ I can't tell her.

Buffy stretched, then got out of the car. "I'd better go tell Giles before classes get started. His knowledge of pop culture ended sometime in the 1970s, so he probably hasn't even heard about this. If we're going to change things around, we need to start thinking about it as soon as possible."

"And I'll ask Logan," I said. "He might have some idea of what his father's doing." I wasn't going to excuse myself by not counting this as treating my friends – which Logan kind of was, at this point, in this universe – as resources, but I was going to partially excuse it as being an I have no choice situation, which I really didn't.

"Good idea." By now we were both walking to class.

"Let me know what the decision is," I said.

"Aren't you in charge?" Yes, she was mocking me.

"Only of detective work, not of scheduling home invasions. That's your territory."

"I think I've just been insulted."

"Think about it some more." I saw Logan duck around a corner ahead. "There's my target. Catch up with you later."

I hustled along and caught up with Logan within a couple of minutes. Along the way, I saw Duncan, to whom I made a promise to take some photos for the paper sometime in the next couple of days, a promise I would keep if I were still around to make it.

"Ah. Veronica Mars," Logan said, stopped outside a classroom. "Why do I imagine this isn't a social call?"

"Because you have psychic powers?"

"No; I used the stone at the magic shop too, remember."

"Right. Then I have no idea. Why couldn't it just be because I want the pleasure of your company?"

He gave me a steady look. Right. Even I wouldn't have believed that one. Yesterday he'd seemed like he was dealing with the whole his-mother-leaving-his-father situation a lot better than today, but of course that was before Aaron Echolls had vowed to become Batman incarnate.

"Point," I said. "I need to know what you know about anything your father has planned with this idea of his."

He stiffened. I'd expected he would. "And why would you think Daddy dearest confides anything in me?"

"I don't, necessarily, but you're the only one he might tell who'll give me the time of day."

He made a production of looking at his watch. "7:23. And as far as the rest goes, why do you want to know?" There was an undercurrent of irritation there, but not outright hostility. I might be able to convince him if I handled this right.

So, in keeping with the baseball theme, I threw him a curve ball and told him the truth, or a fairly close approximation of it, anyway. "Because there's something I'm going to be doing in a couple of days and I need to know if there's a chance that the Aaron Echolls League of Justice is going to interrupt."

"Something?" He said.

"Something. I really can't get more detailed. But it's fairly important -" understatement -"and if I'm going to have to be dodging private foot patrols, I'd like to know about it."

"Okay," he said. "Best answer I can give you is that I don't think he's going to be able to screw up anyone's life that quickly. Except mine. But that, he has a 16-year head start on." A pause, then, "Though he is putting a lot of pressure on the mayor."

Since the last thing Richard Wilkins wanted was to have Aaron Echolls get a lot of publicity by trying this stupid stunt, this, defying logic, might actually be a good thing; Wilkins would do his best to channel Aaron's efforts away from any grand gestures and into maybe donating some money to the police department.

Whether Mayor Wilkins, who could be fairly persuasive, would be able to overcome a Wish-determined personality change was another issue entirely. Still, I had to hope.

"Pressure to do what?" I asked.

"Improve the police department. Maybe set up some civilian patrols."

"You know why the second one is a bad idea," I said.

He nodded. "Yes. I believe the local undead population would be thrilled by the concept of meals who deliver themselves. Though the first isn't a bad idea."

"Well, we _had_ someone competent in charge . . ."

Logan laughed a bit bitterly. "So we did. And perhaps, had dear old Dad gone on this kick then, instead of right now, things would be a lot better around here." Or Keith Mars would be dead. The blending of the two universes had given Richard Wilkins exactly what he couldn't have wanted: A genuinely competent man in charge of the police department. The tumult over Lilly's death and Dad's accusal of Jake Kane was exactly the excuse he needed, but 99 years into a 100-year plan wasn't the time you wanted one of your subordinates to start making waves.

"He couldn't have gone on this kick then," I said. The hallway was filling up, but no one was interrupting or eavesdropping.

"Why not?"

"Well, I suppose in theory -" by the same theory that Gary Coleman could have been a successful NBA star, granted – "He could have, but remember what happened at the party?"

"Hard to forget," he said. "It provided the lead-up to what was truly one of the more hellish evenings of my life."

"Well, that lead-up is why your father is acting the way he is, remember?"

"No," he said with a bit of anger in his voice. "I do _not_. What do you mean, Mars?"

Shit. I'd assumed he'd known that Anyanka had granted that wish at the end. "We managed to stop that demon from granting a wish that would have erased you from existence – but she wasn't going to leave without granting _some_ kind of wish, and I'd pushed bluffing her as far as I could possibly go."

"Wait," Logan said, his face darkening. "So that's why Dad's been acting half like Ward Cleaver and half like Charles Bronson? You let that – that _demon_ wish him into it?"

I hadn't had a choice. I reiterated this to Logan.

At this point, though, he wasn't buying what I was selling. "No choice? Of course not. Of course you didn't have a choice when it came to screwing around with my life." He slammed a fist into a nearby locker, not his, and then stormed off.

I yelled after him, "And it's because of me you have that life at all."

I got no answer, but since he was well down the hall at this point, I really hadn't been anticipating one.

And, of course, by this point, people were glaring at me, including our not-particularly beloved principal. "Veronica Mars. I should have known," he said.

"I suppose you should have," I said, in no mood to put up with any of his crap but not wanting to spend half the day in the principal's office. Dad, I should note, was completely not fooled by Snyder, but still expected me to extend him the respect due his position except when he'd done something to warrant otherwise. "If you'll excuse me, Principal Snyder? I have to get to homeroom."

I could practically see him have an internal argument about whether it was worth his effort to harass me, and the decision this time was apparently "no." Thanks the gods for favors, however minuscule. "This is not in keeping with the running of an orderly school," he said as he turned to go. "You watch yourself."

"I will," I said.

"I'm certain," was his response.

Lovely. Aaron Echolls might ruin the best-laid plans of Mars and men; Logan was ready to disembowel me; and Snyder, well, he was just being himself, but that was enough.

And it wasn't even 7:30 yet.

X X X X X

Logan pointedly looked away from me in the classes we shared for the rest of the day. I noticed, but tried not to let it distract me.

Of course it _did_ distract me; how could it not? But I tried to think about other things, and it wasn't like I didn't have a lot else to go over.

Sheila caught up with me between morning classes and dragged me into my "office," but she wasn't there to complain about being antsy; instead, she wanted to show me something. She muttered a couple of words and concentrated and her right hand began to glow.

"Cool, but I've seen it before," I said.

She grinned. "'swatch, manhunter. I got something else for you."

A couple of more words, and her left hand filled up with a ball of darkness.

I applauded lightly, and she said, "Keep watchin'."

And the darkness expanded to take up a full half of the restroom, with the light expanding to take up the other half. Not so bright that I had to close my eyes, but bright enough that I had to squint. A couple of seconds later, and they both disappeared.

I bowed to her, and her grin grew wider. "Told you 'dbeen working on the darkness spell."

"Yes, but you _didn't_ tell me you'd managed to expand them. Well done."

"Thanks." After a second, "Want to try to the tracking spell after school?"

"Depends. Our schedule might get worked over by this stunt Aaron Echolls is pulling."

She frowned. "Heard about that. Last thing this town needs. An expert, yeah. Your dad, Slayers, maybe Dirty Harry. Him? No fucking way."

The bell rang at that point and we had to skedaddle to get to our next classes. Well, I skedaddled; Sheila just kind of moseyed.

X X X X X

Willow and I sat together at lunch, and she waved off Xander and Buffy when they came to join us. "Sorry, guys," she said, "It's just that we're working on the narrowing thing and this is kind of a working lunch."

"The narrowing thing?" Xander asked.

"Yeah, to find where Spike -" she stopped. "You haven't told him yet, have you?"

"Well, I was going to . . ."

"Tell me what?" Xander asked. "Are you guys keeping me away from the fun?"

"Come on, I'll explain it," Buffy said. "And has anyone ever told you you have a strange sense of fun?"

"Has anyone ever told me I don't?" Xander said as they walked off.

Willow had done an excellent job of further narrowing; using assorted criteria from postal deliveries, to actual recent photographs, she'd managed to get the list down to about fifty places or so. Pretty damn good.

Whatever we couldn't cross off the list by the end of lunch, I was going to take home and use my detectifyin' skills to eliminate as many more as I could. Then we'd see where we need to go from there.

X X X X X

As it turned out, we were about to cross only five more off the list, which left me 46 to go over. As lunch ended Buffy caught up with me.

"I assume Xander isn't ready to explode?"

"Xander? No. He's a little annoyed but I think he knows we weren't trying to keep him or Cordy out of the loop. Actually, I came over because I forgot to tell you something this morning."

"What?" The way my luck had been running, it was that Joyce had decided to take her on an impromptu vacation for the next two weeks.

"When Angel gets done setting our 'interrogation room" up – which should be tonight – we're not going to waste any time. We're going to catch a vampire tonight and we're probably going to want you to interrogate him tomorrow. You up for it?"

"Of course," I said. Maybe Aaron Echolls wouldn't have time to disrupt things.

And maybe, as the great man once said, the moon will fall out of the sky. "What's the address?" I asked.

"74 Breaker. Abandoned store."

Looking down the list, I saw that that was one of the ones we hadn't already ruled out, and crossed it off.

One down.

Forty-five to go.


	80. No Place Like Depot

Nothing really happened for the rest of the regular school day, if you discount Duncan coming up to me and asking what had Logan in such a bad mood.

"You mean, apart from his mother leaving his father and his father deciding to become the next Charles Bronson?" I asked.

"Yeah, apart from those," Duncan said. "I've known him long enough to know that that's only part of it."

"Am I my obligatory psychotic jackass' keeper?" I asked. "I can't say what's got him in a bad mood." Look at me, Veronica Mars, master of the literally true but still deceptive answer. I got a future as a genie waiting for me. Or an Oracle of Delphi.

"Okay. Look, if you find out, tell me, okay?"

"If he tells me, I'll tell you," I said.

"Thanks."

For his part, Logan seemed more likely to throw rocks at my head than confide anything in me, up to and including "Your hair's on fire."

Then came what seemed like the mandatory meeting in the library at the end of the day. I said to Xander as he and Cordelia and I walked in together, "It's like I'm a full-fledged member instead of an honorary one."

He laughed. "You know, I think I had the genre right, I just gave you the wrong name."

"Huh?" I said brightly, as we all sat down.

"I'm the one who first called you J'onn J'onnz, the Martian Manhunter, and now I'm thinking that I should called you by a different superhero name."

"It'd better not be Wonder Woman," Cordelia said.

"Relax, Cor. Nowhere close."

"Thanks a lot," I said.

After looking back and forth between me and Cordelia for a few seconds, he said, "I'm not going to win this one, am I?"

"Got that right, bucko," Cordelia said.

I let him off the hook and asked, "So. Who am I in the superhero universe, if I'm not the Martian Manhunter?"

"The Phantom Stranger."

I had some familiarity with superheroes, but had no clue who that was.

"Kind of an honorary member of the Justice League," Xander said. "He's this supernatural dude, no one even knows where he comes from, and he kind of shows up every once in a while to clue the League in on some major-league bad stuff going down, usually on the magical side of things. Then, when the crisis is over, he disappears until the next time he's needed."

"I was kind of hoping for Batman – because he's a detective – but okay, Xander, that's not bad."

Cordelia snorted when I mentioned Batman, and said, "You wish, Mars."

"Actually, I don't, and anyway that's going to be Aaron Echolls' job."

"Which," Giles said, "Is a sign that we should probably begin. Progress?"

"'mdone the tracking spell," Sheila said from the far end of the table. "Ready whenever. Tonight?"

"Actually," Buffy said, "If we could maybe hold off on that until the weekend. That way we won't be racing the sunset." It being early December, there was maybe an hour and a half between the time school ended and sundown.

"That does make sense, Sheila."

"Okay," she said. "Saturday noon. Holding you to it, manhunter."

"I'll be there, too," Buffy said. "Just in case we get close and someone gets nervous, grabby, or has more brains than sense, which pretty much fits every vampire I've ever met who wasn't Spike, the Master or Angel."

"Fair enough," Sheila said. "Just wanna get this _done_, you know?"

"I know," Buffy said.

Willow and I then gave our report, and then Buffy said, "We're going to catch a vamp tonight and hustle Veronica over there tomorrow as soon as school's over."

"Good," Giles said. "Then we should have everything set by late on Saturday, if all goes well."

"Big if," Xander said. "This is Sunnydale. Since when does _any _go well?"

"A valid point, but let us be optimistic until we have reason to be otherwise," Giles said.

"Speaking of . . ." I said.

"Yes?"

"Aaron Echolls and his plans."

Giles said, "Yes. Buffy was kind enough to inform me of Mr. Echolls' pledge to 'clean up' Sunnydale, and from the context it didn't remotely sound like he meant it in any kind of janitorial capacity."

"Not hardly," Cordelia said.

"You know something about this?" I asked.

"This is my circle, nimrods. I know _everything _about it."

"How?"

"Duh, he _told_ me."

"Really?" Buffy asked skeptically. "When?"

"Last night. After he got back from Leno – you _do_ know they tape that in the afternoon, right?"

"Not really the important thing right now, Cordy," Buffy said.

"Yeah, probably not. Anyway, he was making the rounds of the rich people in Sunnydale to see if he could get their support for this 'improve Sunnydale' kick. God knows why he thought about it now -" I'd tell her later – "But anyway, he was there for about fifteen minutes telling them all about what he was going to do."

"Why were you there?" Giles asked.

"It's my house. And you're supposed to be so smart."

Repressing a chuckle – it _had _been badly phrased – I said, "I think he meant, why were you in the room?"

"Because when my parents told me to leave, Aaron said, 'No, stay, Cordelia. I'm not just talking to people my own age, I'm talking to the youth of Sunnydale as well. I need to get out the message to you most of all.' And that's pretty much exactly the way he said it, too." Hmmm. Movie-hero pomposity to go along with the attitude. Lovely. I was wrong; Aaron Echolls hadn't turned into Batman, he'd turned into William Shatner.

"And what was the message?" Willow asked.

"Well, _that _you've already heard, with a lot of boring numbers attached. Lots of murders, lots of accidents, and the rampaging 'gangs on PCP,' and he also ripped into the Sunnydale Sheriff's Office for being completely incompetent lameoids, which they really, really are." Thanks, wish. Thanks, Anyanka. Now you've got Aaron Echolls making sense.

I said, "Now that's something we can agree on."

Giving me a look of barely disguised horror, she said. "Don't make me sorry I came here, Veronica. Check that. I'm always sorry I come here."

"Then why do you do it?" This from Buffy.

"_Someone_ has to keep an eye on you freaks."

Giles said, "Yes. If we can get back to the main point – this could indeed pose a problem. The incompetence of the local constabulary helps us more than a competent one would be able to do anything to stop the real problems of this town. Further, they'd be far more likely to impede Buffy, or even assume that she was one of the causes of the mayhem, rather than one of the solutions."

"Not to disagree with your main point," I said, "But I'd like to point out that not too long ago we _did_ have a competent Sheriff's office, and that they actually did a halfway decent job in lowering the murder rate. Not as good as Buffy has, but better than Deputy Lamb and his cohorts on the best day of their lives."

"No offense to your father was intended, Miss Mars," Giles said.

"And none was taken," I said. "Just giving my Dad credit where credit was due."

"Fair enough. In any event, this is not likely to be those circumstances; this is due to a wish granted by a vengeance demon, and such wishes rarely turn out well."

"Evil genie?" Xander asked

"I believe I get your reference, Xander, and yes, that's a good analogy. We must assume that whatever Mr. Echolls is doing under this wish's influence, that it will only affect us negatively."

A good assumption to make. At one point, I knew the future, but right now I was utterly clueless in knowing what was going to happen.

Still, no time for backtracking or doubts now. I was committed to this path come Adversary or high water.

The meeting broke up, and I headed to Dad's office to do some more winnowing of the 45 places I had left on the list.

X X X X X

That night I got down to 38, through judicious use of logic, luck, and in a couple of cases, remembering the future; the mansion on Crawford Street hadn't been on the radar yet –

But I'd already blown things to hell and gone, anyway. I uncrossed it off the list.

39.

You'd think from the high number of demons and vampires and other magical beings that hung out in Sunnydale that there would have to be at least a few hundred buildings Willow and I couldn't cross of the list, but you'd be wrong for a couple of reasons.

One, a lot of the buildings that were used were used either by multiple beings, or different ones in succession. Vampires tended to hang out together, and not all of them liked buildings, anyway; the Master and his crew had hung out in the caves under Sunnydale, and a lot of them, of course, used the sewers.

Two, there were a lot who were like Clem, or even like Doyle, who could pass for human or who were actually part human, who no more wanted to live in abandoned buildings than most of the rest of us did.

Three, some of them simply lived out in the woods at the edge of town, and had no fixed address.

And four, this time around we were tracking down vampires, and specific ones, at that. Some vampires didn't mind caves, or sewers, but Spike and Drusilla, in canon, didn't spend a whole hell of time holing up there. Spike was willing to hang out in a crypt when he was by himself, but when he was with Drusilla they needed someplace a bit bigger.

Of course, I couldn't make my reasoning known for most of that – the Adversary would have my ass if I did - but Willow seemed willing to follow me lead, this being my relative field of expertise. (Not that she was a bad detective herself, as she showed in _Gone_ and, for that matter, in the original run through of _Lie to Me_.)

Another hour and I still wasn't able to narrow the list any further.

Well, poop.

Still, from "everywhere in town" to "39 buildings" wasn't actually that bad – a lot better than I'd thought I was going to get going in.

So, pure deduction was done, and we were waiting till Saturday to use magic.

Which left my Leroy Jethro Gibbs impression for tomorrow.

Good. After the events of the last couple of days, I had a little bit of aggression to work out.

X X X X X

Friday, for once, went smoothly, if you discount Logan still giving me the cold shoulder, which at this point I more or less have to.

I wish I didn't have to leave things like this, but I was fairly sure I was going to have to. Barring a wild misinterpretation on my part of how and when my bet was going to end, or deliberate obfuscation by the Adversary – and while he'd been cryptic, and cruel, he'd never been deliberately deceptive – my time here, my "storyline," was going to come to an end in the next couple of days.

You may ask, then, why I kept up with the routine; why I went to school at all. I could make up some answer, pretend that it had some kind of larger purpose, but the truth is, I don't really know. Maybe I needed the routine; maybe I didn't want to get Dad worried; or maybe it was something from down deep, some psychological reason even I wasn't particularly aware of.

But I did. I had to have something to do, to kill the time between morning and "let's go interrogate us a vampire." I'd already let Dad know I wouldn't be coming into the office after work, and he said it was okay; he had a cheating-wife case he was working on anyway, and the suspected cheater was "working late" tonight, so he wasn't going to be in the office either. (So I wasn't to go there either, was the undercurrent, which I appreciated. Keith Mars doesn't go for unnecessary overprotectiveness, and with Drusilla around, very little protectiveness at all actually reached the "over" category.)

I quickly updated everyone on where Willow and my investigation had stalled after school before Buffy and I headed out, and handed Giles a copy of my list. Willow said she'd go over it again, and Xander actually volunteered to help her, much to Cordelia's annoyance. Sheila, by prior arrangement, hadn't come to this meeting, because there really wasn't anything more she needed to do.

She _was_ spending the night at casa de Mars, though, also by prior arrangement. Mabel aka Grace Kelly had booked another all-nighter and Sheila didn't particularly want to spend it locked in her room, not that I blamed her. For the moment, she was going to the magic store to do some more meditation under Rae Mistwood's watchful eye; I would pick her up once I was done the interrogation.

Buffy and I headed to the abandoned store before the sun had completely set. Turned out the place had once been a hardware store. Most of the useful things had been stripped from the place long ago, leaving some knocked-down shelving and some spilled red paint on the floor –

"It's paint," Angel said, reading my expression accurately. "Hello, Veronica. Our guest's in the storage room."

"Hello back," I said. To make sure the captured vampire couldn't hear us, we moved to just outside the back door – someone had kicked it in, and the sun had gone down, so there was no danger of Angel going kablooey because of a few stray rays of light.

"Same routine as before?" Angel said.

"No; this time we're going to go for honesty."

"Honesty?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah. At least, he'll think it's honesty. He tells us, he gets a quick death. He doesn't tell us, you torture him, beat him to a bloody pulp, and _then_ kill him. Slowly. Inch by inch. At least, that's what we're going to _tell_ him." Once again I have to reiterate that I'm not a fan of torture, even on vampires.

Getting the vampire to tell us because of the _fear _of torture, though, is another thing entirely.

Buffy said, "No offense, Veronica, but I could have done that on my own."

"Then next time, do," I said, taking no offense. "I may not always be available. But tell me, how would you have done it?"

"Gone in and told him exactly what you just did."

"Were you even _watching_ me last time?" I asked in mock exasperation. "I got creative with what I said would happen to the vampire if he didn't talk, but the only thing I actually did was drip some holy water on his neck. That plus threats of you was enough to get him to tell us everything he knew about Rack. So I-"

"Not quite," Angel said. "That, plus you promised to let him go once he talked."

Right. I actually had forgotten about that.

"True," I said. "But I'm not so sure it'll matter. We wanted a lot more info from that vampire than we want from this one. We spent 45 minutes getting what we needed from that one. From this one? All we need is an address . . ."

X X X X X

It took under fifteen minutes from the time I walked into the room until the time another one was biting the dust. Beyond Angel cuffing him once, and Buffy pricking the skin of his foot with a knife while idly musing about the many, many things she could do with that knife that wouldn't actually kill the vampire, we didn't physically harm him until Buffy shoved the stake through his heart.

The address given was nowhere I'd ever heard of.

There were four places still on my list that I specifically remembered from watching _Buffy_ were the mansion on Crawford Street, the warehouse Spike and Drusilla holed up when while they assembled the Judge, Ted's place, and the abandoned fraternity on the campus of UC-Sunnydale, and this wasn't any of them.

It _was_ on the list, though. An old bus depot, abandoned years ago when Greyhound stopped coming to Sunnydale.

Okay, that's two out of three.

I left Buffy there – she was headed out for an early patrol before going home for dinner, while Angel removed the manacles and headed home. They watched while I got in my car, just to be sure Drusilla wasn't lying in wait – she wasn't – and I drove to the magic shop to get Sheila.

On the way, I turned on the radio just in time to catch the 6 o'clock news.

"-ayor of Sunnydale just sat there and said that maybe my time and money would be better spent on charity. Really, Mayor Wilkins? Charity? More people got killed here in Sunnydale last year than got killed in all of San Diego, and you don't want someone looking into it? That has me suspicious, Mr. Mayor, as to _why_ you don't care about the safety of the people of Sunnydale. And that's why I'm going to do something about it. No more holding back. This weekend, there will be a new security force on the streets – paid for, and led, by _me_. Aaron Echolls."

Well, would you look at that. The riot has spread onto the field.


	81. Faithless, Hopeless and Tricked

Alternate chapter title: Cue the Sun.

X X X X X 

I switched off my radio and briefly considered just ripping the damn thing out and throwing it out the car window. Then sanity set in, and I just rolled my eyes. One more way for the universe to pile on, I guess.

Think I'm being arrogant? Think again. The Adversary wouldn't have bothered telling me about any of this if it weren't going to affect me, and my plans, so I had to assume that _whatever_ we did over the weekend to take Spike and Drusilla down, that Echolls' Security Patrol (look at that, I made an acronym) would get involved somehow, and probably not in the "we're going to make things all better" way, because my luck doesn't run that way.

And, unfortunately, if my luck is running bad, then everyone else's will run bad, too. I'll warn them as clearly as I can, but one, I can't be as clear as I'd like (thanks to the terms of the bet, of course), and two, I'm not sure they'll want to back off now, anyway, or even that if they did it would do any good.

Careful, there. Don't want to fall back into the paralysis by analysis trap that almost got me earlier. Stopping the plans now for fear that something might happen would probably be worse than not stopping them –

Shit. Worse _for me_. It might not be worse for everyone else.

I might not want to fall victim to paralysis by analysis, but I was going to have to give this some more thought.

X X X X X

Sheila, with Rae's permission, was actually going to stick around the magic shop a little longer to study an old not-for-sale spellbook. A quick look at Rae confirmed, for that half a percent of me that hadn't been sure, that no, this was not a book Rae could use to start World War III or summon Beelzebub. (Sheila was unlikely to do the latter, but might do the former if it was really, really funny.)

She asked me to pick her up at around 9 PM, and I agreed and left.

To my surprise, Dad was at home when I got there.

To my bigger surprise, so was Aaron Echolls. Either the cheating wife had been the stupidest cheater ever and had started in on her boyfriend in the motel parking lot, or Dad had been buttonholed by Aaron and hadn't been able to get away yet.

"Honey," Dad said pleasantly, but in such a way that you could tell he'd be gritting his teeth if he could, "Mr. Echolls was just here trying to hire me for his new security force."

Aaron turned to me, and if I didn't have the same look on my face that Dad did, I'm Grover Cleveland. "Really?" I said, forcing a smile onto my face that really, really didn't belong there.

"Yes. And I told him I'd give it some thought."

Grinning, Aaron said, "I really don't know what's to think about, Keith. It's obvious how incompetent the police are around here without you in charge -" and once again I was forced to agree with Aaron Echolls – "And the people I bring in are going to need an experienced local to show them the ropes."

"It would be a big change, Aaron," Dad said. "Give me a couple of days and I'll let you know, okay."

Sounding disappointed, Aaron said, "Okay. Keith. But not too long, okay. Big changes are coming to Sunnydale, and they're long overdue." Then he turned to me and said, "I could use your help, too."

"Huh?" was my witty reply. Oh, this was the last thing I needed.

"Sure!" he said enthusiastically. "I know how much you help Keith with his work, and I know you've got guts. Back during Parent-Teacher night -"

"I have money and a signed contract saying you had the guts that night," I said.

"Oh, that," he said. "Screw that. That was back when I wasn't thinking clearly. I still don't think I did all that bad, but you were the one who got us out of there, not me. You think fast and you know the town."

A brief glance at Dad warned me to keep my answer politic. "I've had even less time to think about it than Dad has. Can I also say I'll get back to you?" I'm proud of myself. I kept the wording civil and my tone? Not once did I imply that I wanted him to go do anatomically impossible things with a garden weasel.

Aaron nodded. "Sure, Veronica, whatever you need." Then he extended a hand to Dad and said, "Keith: I could really use you. I'm going to go see who else I can get involved in this. Have a good evening, folks."

We muttered goodbyes as he shut the door, waited until he was in his car and at the edge of the parking lot, before Dad and I dared to look at each other.

After about fifteen seconds of bemused silence, I said, "Does my face match your face?"

Slowly, Dad nodded his head. "I believe so, if my face looks like I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or pull out my gun."

"That's the one," I said.

"Do you have any idea what's gotten into him? I'd think that if he would have had any kind of epiphany it would have involved the way he treated Lynn, not this."

You would think that, dad, but then, I can't tell you why I think otherwise. Or can I? Phrased right – "Lynn told him she wished he was more like his image," I said. "Maybe this is him trying to do just that."

"You think _this_ is his image?"

"No," I said, "I think he _thinks_ this is his image. He probably doesn't even factor in the parts where he cheated on Lynn with pretty much anything female." After a second, "I'm assuming the answer will be a 'hell no'?"

"A bit more politely put than that, but yes," Dad said. "Aaron was here for a good half hour -"

I doubted there had been much if anything good about it, but I didn't bother going there and just said, "So I'm guessing you haven't made it to the hotel?"

"No, and I need to get their fairly soon if I'm going to have any chance of catching the woman in _flagrante_," Dad said, putting on his jacket. "Anyway, in that half hour he mentioned that Mayor Wilkins tried everything from bribery to blackmail to get him to focus his attention elsewhere, and I don't think he was lying." On this, I'd say I can pretty much guarantee he wasn't lying, though the blackmail was probably delivered in an offhand, affable manner.

"And we don't want to get caught in the middle."

"Nope." He opened the door.

"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am -"

"Stuck in the middle with you," Dad sang. "Way it's always been, sweetheart. Stay safe."

And then he left.

I'd make some comment about the universe piling on, but I'm fairly sure you've heard it all before.

God knows I have.

X X X XX

So, to stop, or not to stop.

And could I stop if I wanted to? I can be fairly persuasive when I want to be, though I must admit I don't tend to win arguments on either sheer charisma or devastating logic. Not that I'm incompetent at either, but sophistry? Twisting words and phrases and clauses? That I can be really good at. (I also occasionally manage to convince people through the judicious use of blackmail, but I didn't think I had anyone left to blackmail, having already using my knowledge of Jenny Calendar's past to expose both her and Angel – and everyone already knew about Giles' sordid past with Ethan Rayne.)

I guess I could figure it out if I put some thought into it –

Damn. Once again I wasn't thinking clearly. I didn't need to have an elaborate blackmail scheme, if I went in that direction. All I needed was to make a call as everyone's favorite hind-sight inspired master manipulator, Epimetheus.

Of course, even that was assuming that Giles, tired of my lack of success, hadn't engaged someone else magically to figure out who was pulling their strings.

Too many factors to be able to analyze the future clearly. Of course, that was more or less real life for you, whether you had some general idea of what was going to happen, or like 99.5% of the rest of humanity, had no clue. But recognizing this did absolutely nothing towards helping me make this decision.

Hold on. What was it that the Adversary had told me? "There's a distraction coming."

And boy, was I distracted right now, trying to figure out whether to try to postpone the assault on Spike and Dru's place.

Odds were, this was a red herring being dragged across my path, and like an idiot, I was following it rather than sticking to the original trail.

Fortunately, I could find that original trail again just by forgetting about basing any part of my decision on what Aaron Echolls and his bought and paid for private security force might do. Screw them, and screw thinking about them until and unless they actually showed up.

X X X X X

With that decision reached, I was out of things to do for the rest of the night until it came time to gather up Sheila. Yes, Friday night, yes, I'm a high school student (outwardly, if not inwardly), but right now was not the time go "Bronzing it," in the local parlance. I was done with narrowing down the list of addresses and wasn't going to bother doing homework. Little point to studying for a math test on Monday when I wasn't entirely sure I, or this world, would still even be here on Monday.

When my story ends, does this world end? Is the adversary capable of _creating_ a universe, or did he just find some trivially alternate Buffyverse and shoehorn in me and my backstory?

Or did he put into the _actual_ Buffyverse, and somewhere Joss Whedon was thinking he created me and Logan and Don Lamb along with Buffy and Angel and Giles? No offense to Joss, but he didn't create me. He didn't create Sheila, either, or even all of the Buffy I know here. When we watch TV shows, we're visiting alternate universe. Living in them? Another matter entirely. Joss Whedon couldn't have created me, or Sheila, or the complete Buffy, because _no one_could have – short of God, and remember, I'm not so sure I believe in Him.

Not a question I can answer, but actually relevant. If it's a preexisting universe then me and mine can be extricated without ending the world, as they know it. If it's not? The Adversary doesn't seem pointlessly cruel (no, his cruelties are pointed as a porcupine quill), but he might think his universe, he can do with it what he wants.

(You also might be wondering why I might doubt the existence of God while dealing directly with someone who can create universes. Remember, though, _Anyanka_ created universes, and D'Hoffryn is a good deal more powerful than she is, and if either the Adversary or D'Hoffryn is God by any definition, then God, per Mark Twain, is a malign thug, and no one I care to worship or believe in.)

I still might argue with him if he decided to summarily end it. Might not be able to convince him, but it would be pretty damn shitty of me not to at least make the effort.

Anyway. Might be hard to distract myself from everything from my difficulties with Logan through the potential end of the universe, but I was going to do my damnedest to try.

Of course, it's 1997 and we don't have cable and I doubt I'd be able to find anything –

Sabrina the Teenage Witch?

No. A bit too on the nose, don't you think?

X X X X X

I read, made myself a snack, played solitaire, and in general managed to keep myself marginally mentally occupied until it came time to pick up Sheila. I couldn't be productive because there was nothing to be productive about.

I hate that, of course, but it won't last long one way or the other.

Sheila was waiting just inside the store, which was otherwise closed. I greeted Sheila and then said, "Rae? You good?"

"I'm following you right out the door," she said.

And she did just that. After seeing her get into her car – instinctive protectiveness, but I liked the woman – Sheila and I got into the LeBaron.

"You get anything good from that book? And what was it about?" I asked.

And the evil grin came out. "'s a way to kill vampires." She help up a hand. "Still ain't gonna go lookin', manhunter. But'd be nice to do it if I had to, without havin' to shove a stake in 'em."

"So . . ." I said, only partly mollified.

"'ll show you when we get out of the car. Don't want to damage the floor." She looked down. "Not that you could tell."

"Hey!" I said. The LeBaron might be aging, but it's not falling apart.

"Hey, yourself. I call 'em like I see 'em."

"Then get some glasses," I said. "By the way, do you mind just heading back to my apartment from here? It's been kind of a long week -" Veronica Mars, queen of understatement – "And I'm really not in a party down kind of mood."

"You ever?" she asked.

True, that. Haven't really been a partying kind of gal since I was raped. In either universe.

X X X XX

We stepped out of the car in front of the apartment complex and looked around. This time of night wasn't exactly when you wanted to be lingering outside, but Sheila promised it would only take a minute or two and that she really didn't want to do this inside. "Don't mind breaking some places, manhunter; yours isn't one of them."

Which had me a little nervous. "Do I need to stand back? A foot, five feet, Sacramento?"

"A little bit. And shade your eyes." She put on a pair of sunglasses I hadn't known she'd been carrying.

My eyes? Why –

Sheila threw a small handful of powder in the air and said, "Inserisca il sole!" And then –

Well, if you know Italian, I don't have to tell you. Otherwise, remember when Willow grabbed that gem in the magic store? The one that made me think people on other planets would start wondering where the new star came from?

Yeah, I wish it had been that dark. I swear, if there had been sound people would have thought there'd been an explosion.

It died down after about ten seconds, but that was more than enough to hear voices from inside cursing and what was going on. Chuckling, Sheila grabbed my arm and started hustling me towards the building. Rubbing spots from my eyes, unsuccessfully, I let her drag me along until we got inside my apartment.

"What the hell was that?" I asked.

"'Real sunlight."

"Huh?"

"Spell lets me borrow a little bit of sunlight. 'swhy I took so long; had to make sure I was takin' just the light and not the heat. Rae looked over the spell for me to be sure. 'snot a witch but she knows the language. This spell's got nothing to do with the heat."

"Maybe you could have told me so I could've stayed further back."

The irritation in my voice sobered Sheila up instantly. "If I'd brought the heat of the Sun here for even a second we would've been ashes by now," she said. "I would _never_ risk you like that. Me, maybe. You, never."

Looking into her eyes, I saw nothing but sincerity. Not that I've always been the best judge of character, but in this case? Sheila was getting the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay," I said. "Just _warn_ me next time."

If there was a next time, of course. That was still entirely in doubt.

But still.


	82. Retaking the Initiative

Time to move ahead. Sheila and I talked about the tracking spell – and she was beyond ready to do it - about magic, about why she needed to _freaking warn me_ the next time she created a new star (no one associated the brief flash of light with us; Sunnydale blindness was already setting in), about sex (and you're getting no details, of Sheila's still occasionally active sex life, or my nonexistent one), and about Aaron Echolls and how he might screw up our plans.

"And I was thinking about it," I said, "And I finally decided, screw it."

She gave me an odd look. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm just figuring with the way my luck tends to run that he's going to screw things up no matter what we do."

Suddenly, her voice got angry. "Knock that the fuck off, now."

I blinked. Sheila raised her voice about as often as I bench-pressed Volkswagens. "Okay . . . knock what off?"

"That attitude. 'snot the manhunter I know. There's someone getting in the way, you try to get them out of the way. You don't just assume that there's nothing you can do about it."

She wasn't using the general you, she meant me specifically.

How the hell could I explain this to her? The Adversary specifically (as specific as he gets, anyway) warned me about the riot, and, while this entire bet could be called a grand exercise in jerking me around, he's never done that just for the hell of it.

_Something will happen_. I'm as sure of that as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow. (Given my earlier comments, I'm not so sure about Monday.)

"It's just -" I stopped. What could I say that wouldn't make me sound either fatalistic or, at the least, pessimistic?

I didn't want to be pessimistic about the assault on Spike. I wanted to be upbeat and positive. I wanted things to go well. I _needed_ things to go well.

I hadn't planned on conceding; I had just assumed we'd have to deal with the interference when it happened and that I'd have to rapidly think my way through it then. Deal with it on the fly, like Indiana Jones (but minus the bullwhip).

And I couldn't explain why I was sure Aaron Echolls' private security force would throw a spanner into the works.

After a few seconds, Sheila said, "Just what?" I didn't, couldn't, answer, "Just what, Veronica?"

"Just that I'm sure," I finally said, realizing how lame it was when I said it.

Sheila wasn't buying it. I wouldn't have, either. Hell, _Harmony_ wouldn't have bought it, and let me assure you, from my few interactions with the girl, she is exactly as dumb as she looks.

The difference, of course, is that Sheila actually gave a crap about me and was determined to get me out of this fatalistic funk I was apparently in. "Like hell. Don't know what's got you feelin' this way, don't know if you know, but 'm not lettin' you. Veronica Mars thinks her way through things like this. Veronica Mars holds off vampires and talks her way out of showdowns with crazy demons. Veronica Mars doesn't let an asshole like Aaron Echolls ruin her mood." Of course, Aaron Echolls had been ruining my mood for years now. "No, Veronica Mars does something the fuck about it."

I think Sheila had just said my name more often in the last thirty seconds than she had in the previous two and a half months. If I needed proof about how deadly serious she was being, this was it.

"So," she continued, "_Do, _damn it."

Do.

Think my way out of it.

Think my way past fate. Past Aaron Echolls. Past his private security force. Past Spike and Drusilla.

Past the Adversary.

Past _everyone_.

Manipulate the universe.

Even when the universe itself was giving me signs that I couldn't.

"Well?" Sheila asked.

Well, indeed.

X X X X X

Sheila and I talked long into the night, only stopping when Dad got home. He'd gotten to the motel too late to see anything but the woman's car pulling out of the parking lot which, as he explained, "Wasn't exactly what the client was paying for."

"So say it's all Aaron Echolls' fault. I'm sure the client won't mind paying for another two hours of your time."

"Ha ha," Dad said. "No, the next time'll have to be on me."

Well, that sucked. Dad may live the life of a low-budget private eye, when he wasn't trying to prove that one of the most powerful men in town killed my best friend, but he was beyond professional. It wasn't having to cough up the free services that bugged him, it was that he hadn't done his job right, and never mind that it was largely Aaron Echolls' fault; Dad didn't make excuses for messing in a job for anything short of natural disasters or invasions. (If you think I'm being hyperbolic, think again. While we've never been invaded, Dad did have to call off tracking down a blackmailer once because an earthquake spooked her.)

"Guessing you ain't takin' that job?" Sheila asked.

Dad looked at me sharply, and I said, "Nothing was said about this being a secret."

"Nothing was said about telling anyone, either."

"'No worries, Mr. Mars," Sheila said. "'m hardly the school gossip. 'sides, from what – Veronica – was tellin' me, seems like Aaron Echolls himself'll be blabbin' it all over town whether you take the job or not."

"Well, I'd still rather it stay quiet as long as possible.' Sure; the last thing Dad needed was the Mayor or Lamb focusing on him rather than on Aaron Echolls. Two bears and a fox are in a room together, the fox has nothing to gain by making sure the bears are looking at him rather than each other. Not that Deputy Lamb was anything but, well, a sheep, but the Mayor was a damned sight more competent.

"Don't worry, Dad. Sheila and I have our own plans. We're not going to spill anything. I promise."

"Thank you." After a second, casually: "What plans?"

"The same thing we do every night, Dad. Try to take over the world."

Chuckling lightly, Dad said, "Well, when you do, there's this castle in Ireland I've had my eye on."

"syours," Sheila said.

"That's all I ask for," Dad said. "Veronica: We do need to talk more seriously sometime this weekend about the offers."

"Sometime Sunday?"

"Deal."

Then he left and Sheila and I got back to our conversation.

On the off chance you needed to be told this, we were not in fact discussing how to take over the world.

I don't know if Sheila had convinced me I could outthink everyone.

But she had spent the last few hours convincing me, at least, to try.

X X X X X

Then came the night, and all I had to was dream.

Not the Adversary this time. (And no porcupines either.)

No, this time it was Lilly, and we were sitting in the stands at the Neptune High baseball field. On the field, Sunnydale High and Neptune High were playing a game –

Yes, in the bottom of the ninth, with Neptune High up to bat. The Neptune High Coach, played for the moment by Aaron Echolls, was yelling at the umpire.

Nope, no symbolism here.

"What?" Lilly said.

"Did I say that out loud?" I said.

"You did," she said. "What's got you so down, doofus?"

"Life, the universe, and everything," I said.

"Oh. I solved those _years_ ago."

I looked at her and grinned. "I'm sure you did."

"Of course! Don't I just know everything?"

"And you always have." On the field, the umpire was motioning for security, and Coach Echolls was yelling something to the players in the dugout.

"And I always will. But you're almost as good as I am, Veronica Mars."

"Almost?"

'Hey, most people aren't even in the same ballpark." I snorted, though the line was true enough almost any way you cared to look at it.

"Anyway," Lilly said seriously. "I wanted to tell you thanks and good luck."

"Because I'm going to need it?"

She laughed again. "You're Veronica Mars. You make your own luck. But I figured I can help even with that!"

Ah, Lilly.

"Wish you were here," I said.

"In a universe filled with _vampires_? Did you hate me that much?" The voice was harsh, but the eyes were teasing. The field was now consumed by a brawl that was beginning to spill up into the stands. I wasn't worried, though, for some reason.

"You know what I mean," I said.

"Don't I always?" she said airily. "Anyway, I just wanted to say that you can get through this. Don't let fate get you down."

"I won't," I said seriously. "I promise."

Lilly grinned, "See you soon."

X X X X X

I jolted awake and looked at the clock – 5:10 AM – and then on the floor next to the bed, where Sheila had insisted on sleeping despite my strenuous efforts to convince her otherwise. Cautiously, I swung out of bed and stepped over her, heading to the bathroom, and most of what happened in there, I'm not saying. But I did look out the bathroom window just before I left –

And there she was.

Not Drusilla. Buffy. She was fairly well hidden, perched in a tree across the street – not many people would have been looking up, but then, I knew she might be out there and knew what she was, so a tree that might have been difficult for the casual climber – no branches until about twenty feet off the ground – wouldn't have been much of an obstacle for someone who could jump up to the branch from a standing position.

It did make me feel better. In a very real sense, despite my concern for Buffy's health, knowing that she was out there keeping an eye on me was the only thing that was giving me the sense of security I needed to get a good night's sleep.

Typically with a Lilly dream, not to mention an Adversary dream, I'd end up awake for the rest of the night as I tried to recuperate from the revelation, the emotional shock, or both. This time? No problems.

And it wasn't just Buffy. This Lilly dream had had a different feel to it, and I don't just mean the beyond-obvious symbolism. This was _her_, speaking to me, without the interference of the Adversary, or my own subconscious.

This was Lilly giving me as much help as she dared to.

And confirming that Sheila was right.

My friends know me better than I know me. Which is a pretty damn good thing to have in a friend, don;t you think?

X X X X X

Woke up again right before 8. Sheila was already awake, and was lying on the floor quietly reading. (_Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior_. Presumably so she'd know which rules she hadn't broken yet.)

"About damn time," she said. "Thought I was going to finish the whole thing before you got your ass out of bed."

I looked down. Page 127 of what looked to be a 600-page book. Sheila was a voracious reader, but she was not a fast one, so she was just blowing smoke – which she confirmed with her standard evil grin a second later.

"You know, you didn't have to stay in here."

"snot like I have anything better to do," she said.

"Sweetie?" Dad called. "You up? I brought breakfast!"

The Mars family might be fairly competent at making basic level dinner foods, but weekend breakfasts? Donuts or McDonald's. Yes, there's a McDonald's in Sunnydale. I know, I was shocked too. It's a block down the road from the Doublemeat Palace.

Sunnydale actually has a number of chain places, even not counting the mall. There's a CompUSA, a Bennigan's, a Hollywood Video -

And a Krispy Kreme. Apparently Cordelia didn't have to go all the way to LA to pick Xander up some donuts.

Who knew?

X X X X X

Three Egg McMuffins, hash browns, and coffees later (yeah, McDonald's coffee in the '90s, not the best, but it had caffeine, and that? Really the important thing) Dad asked us about our plans for the day.

"And nothing about world domination," he said.

"Don't want that castle in Ireland, do you?" Sheila asked.

"Where would I park the car?" Then, "Veronica?"

Trying to manipulate a powerful man set around trying to track down a pair of powerful vampires, Dad; and you? "Doing a little more research into trying to find that homeless person. Don't worry; nowhere and nothing dangerous, and both Sheila and Buffy are going to be with me."

"Not at night," Dad said sharply. "You know how dangerous the streets of this town are at night."

Oh yes, the Adversary is definitely holding him back. "No, during the daytime. We'll be done well before nightfall."

Nodding his head, Dad said, "Alright then. I'm going to contact the client from yesterday and see whether there's any point in doing any work today, along with some apologizing."

"Good luck with that," I said. "Sheila?"

X X X X X

45 minutes later Sheila and I were on the road. Buffy was going to meet us at the Espresso Pump, where we would all chow down on more coffee and I would explain to Buffy how we were going to do our damnedest to keep Aaron Echolls off our back while we located Spike and Drusilla the third way, and then killed them with as extreme prejudice as Buffy could muster.

Which gave me exactly the driving time between home and the Espresso Pump to come up with a plan.

Anyone have any ideas?


	83. Never Blame a Man on the First Day

Of course, there was nothing saying I had to come up with the idea all by myself. "So," I said, "You have any ideas on how to keep Aaron Echolls from getting all up in our business?" Yes, I said that. No, I said it flatly, with full awareness that I really couldn't pull off a line like that.

Sheila gave me a look that said I shouldn't have said it even without that awareness, and then said, "Kill him."

Well, that would work, and I didn't really have any ethical problems with it; the bastard had killed Lilly, tried to kill me, and actually got away with the murder before someone killed him, in the original timeline. My problem there was, I didn't think I had it in me and I wouldn't ask anyone else to do it – I wouldn't want them to get in trouble.

"Too much work," I said. "Otherwise? Not a bad idea. Keep going."

"'skidding, manhunter. Don't particularly want the guy dead. From what you've said I wouldn't cry if he did, but there's still a line there." After a second she added, "Anyway, 'syour job to come up with the clever schemes."

"Don't sell yourself short," I said. "Kill him" would be simple and would certainly keep him from getting in our way."

"Dodgin' the cops would make up for it."

"True, that," I said. "So. I'm brainstorming here and I'm using any brains I can find. Any other thoughts?"

"I'll let you know. Guessin' you're probably about to ask Buffy as well, right?"

"Right.'

"Then I got a few minutes."

We drove the rest of the way in an amiable silence while I thought through it, myself. Having something happen to Aaron Echolls was out – either murder or kidnapping. And I wasn't about to invite him to join the assault on Spike and Dru's hiding place because my sneaking fear was that the end result would be "Aaron Echolls, vampire."

Having something violent happen, I emended silently. Some bad publicity, some other incident – those could happen.

Of course, for me to set that up I'd need to actually visit him and his and see this "elite security force hired from out of town" to see what they were like. Aaron was rich enough to hire pricey security; whether he was good enough to figure out the difference between expensive and good and just expensive was another matter entirely. No one could ever accuse Aaron Echolls of having had particularly good judgment on anything that didn't involve selection of movie roles.

Something to think about.

There was one other option I was holding in the palm of my hand, but it was almost as nuclear an option as killing Aaron:

Outing him as Lilly's murderer.

That would distract him and stop him from giving any stupid instructions to his "elite security force."

The down side: It would piss the hell out of Dad, Logan, and possibly Xander. (In Aaron's current condition, I had no idea what it would do to him.) Things I only needed to be concerned about if I thought I would stay in this universe, obviously. If "when I die, the world ends," then I don't care about the future, because there isn't one.

If, if, if, always with the fucking ifs.

Do I screw a lot of people over in order to get my way?

It used to be I would say yes to that – not without blinking an eye; I'm not a psychopath or a Knight of Byzantium, thank you very much – but I would have done it.

The new me did her best to find another way.

If I had to? I'd still do it. But I'd do my damnedest to exhaust every other option available first.

X X X X X

I was still thinking over ways to distract Aaron when we got to the Espresso Pump. Buffy was already there, her hands clasped around a jumbo-sized cup of coffee, with assorted pastry leavings present as well. Sheila and I ordered and sat down.

After greetings, I said, "Mind if we bounce something off you?"

"As long as it's not a boulder, I'm good," Buffy said.

"Do I look like the Incredible Hulk?" I said.

"No," Sheila said, "You look like the Martian Manhunter."

Internally, I winced. I should know better than to make superhero jokes around this crowd.

"Anyway," I said as Sheila grinned at her own joke, "No. Sheila convinced me last night that we shouldn't just wait to react to whatever Aaron Echolls does with his security force, but to try to direct his and their attentions elsewhere."

Nodding, Buffy said, "I can see that."

"Good. Got any specific ideas? Sheila's idea was 'kill him,' but I'm not quite sure I want to go that far." No matter how much he might deserve it.

"Yeah, he's an ass, but I wouldn't kill a person if it meant taking down all of the vampires in Southern California," Buffy said. And would probably say even if she knew that Aaron Echolls had killed Lilly.

"I wasn't really considering it," I said. "So the object is to come up with another way of distracting him that doesn't actually involve an armed invasion -"

"Or getting his security guys killed," Buffy said.

"Sending them to raid a rival vampire nest is out, huh?' I asked.

"Big time."

"Hmmm," I said. "Well, if we can't set up an actual invasion, maybe we can set up a fake invasion?"

"Do you know any fake invaders?" Buffy asked.

"Not off the top of my head."

"snot like we've got a lot of time to rustle any up, either," Sheila said. "Unless you want it to be you, me, and Echolls."

"Logan's not particularly happy with me right now," I said. "He's not going to be helping us do anything." Not that I'd want him to help find Spike and Drusilla's hideout, anyway. He might have been useful in getting together a phony invasion, or understanding the psychology of his father – he was the closest thing we had to an expert, anyway –

No. He wasn't.

"I recognize that smile," Sheila said.

"Really?" Buffy said. "'cause it scares the shit out of me."

"I just figured out what I'm going to do."

"Would you care to share with the rest of the class, or would you rather make us just guess?"

"Not yet," I said. "But if I'm right, this'll be less messy than killing him – and less likely to get us thrown in jail – less complicated than putting together an invasion, and less likely to get anyone killed for taking on a vampire nest without the right weaponry."

"But it's only going to distract him. Not the elite force," Buffy said.

"Not if I get to him soon enough," I said. "Sheila: Are you ready to track now?"

Sheila allowed as she was.

"Good. Then let's get going."

"Mind if I finish the coffee first?" Buffy asked.

Oh. Right.

X X X X X

We were on the road five minutes later, Buffy in the back seat. "Don't worry," she said wryly. "If something happens I'll just kick out the back window."

"It's my car," I said, "You don't have a license, and Sheila has to concentrate on the spell. Would you rather ride on the roof?"

"'ven Sunnydale cops'd notice that," Sheila said.

"Shush, you. Concentrate on your spell."

Ten minutes later – after about two dozen turns, some of which would have left the Duke boys envious – Sheila said, "Stop. There it is."

And through a chain link fence surrounding a fairly large lot, there was the building Sheila was pointing to:

the abandoned Sunnydale bus depot.

We were now three for three.

I confirmed as much to Buffy, who said, "Good. Now let's get away from here before anyone inside sees us."

We were approaching it from a side – no windows, no gaps, and and no open doors. The building looked reasonably intact, like it could be repurposed for something.

Not with vampires inside, admittedly.

We hustled back to the LeBaron and drove back to the Espresso Pump, where we thanked Sheila.

"'course," she said. "Want the bitch dead as much as you do."

"I doubt that," Buffy said.

"Don't."

We ordered again,"I'm going to leave it up to you and Giles to plan the assault," I said as we tucked into some more coffee. Don't judge; I'm young, I'm overcaffeinated, and I'm not Willow, so I can get away with it.

"Gee, thanks," Buffy said.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that to come across quite as patronizing as it did," I said. "Still, you know what I mean. I'm not going to be within three miles of the place."

"I-" Sheila began.

"And neither will you," I said firmly. I could sense Sheila's eagerness to be part of this, and I wanted her to have no part of this.

"Think you control me, manhunter?"

"Think I want you still breathing when this is over. Unless I'm way off this fight's only going to involve Buffy, Giles, and maybe Angel, depending whether there's any sewer access to the depot."

Nodding, Buffy said, "Pretty much. Also depends how many vamps are in there, too. Angel and I'll scout the place tonight and make our move sometime tomorrow in the early afternoon,"

"So no Willow, no Xander -"

"No. Not unless they have to. Patrolling in the graveyard is one thing – those are usually rookies who don't know what they're doing. Spike? Drusilla? Way beyond."

"Besides," I told the visibly irritated Sheila, "I'm going to need your help with the distraction."

"Really?" Sheila said suspiciously.

"Would I lie to you?"

"I like you, manhunter, but you lie to everyone."

Since that was true, although I was working on it, I swear, I could hardly take offense. "I've been trying to cut down on the amount of lying I do to my friends. And I promise you, Sheila. I need your help." A thought hit me. "I could use Xander's help, too."

"Am I my Xander's keeper?" Buffy asked. "Besides, he likes to be where the action is."

"He'll get all the action he can handle," I said. "With what I have in mind? He'll jump at the chance." It involved screwing over Aaron Echolls. Xander wouldn't hesitate.

"Really? How do you know?"

Holding up a hand, I said, "I can't tell you. Really. I haven't even told Sheila this."

Buffy looked at Sheila, who said, "'sa lot of things she hasn't told me. This is one of 'em."

"Okay," Buffy said, "I'm going to leave it to you and Sheila to plan the distraction."

I chuckled and said, "I see what you did there."

"Who? Me?" Buffy said innocently.

We drank coffee and talked for a few more minutes – actually, Buffy and I did most of the talking. Sheila wasn't much for casual chatting. Then, standing up, Buffy said, "I'll call you tomorrow to let you know what's going on and when so we can coordinate."

"Sounds good," I said, and _exeunt omnes_, in various directions.

X X X X X

Okay, two directions, because Sheila was still with me, and no matter how talented Buffy is, she's not actually capable of splitting in two, and won't be until season five.

Part of my plan depended on finding out what more I could about the "elite security force," and that, unfortunately, would involve gritting my teeth, bucking up, and all of those cliches, and going to talk to Aaron Echolls in person. It was late enough in the morning that there was no time like the present, dammit, to get started.

"Will you be okay if I drop you off at the magic store while I go beard the lion in his den?" I said.

Shrugging slightly, Sheila said, "Sure. Seein' Echolls – either of 'em – ain't goin' to do much for my mood right now."

"Would it ever?"

A faint grin. "Point, manhunter."

Pete was inside when we got there, and he cheerfully came over and let Sheila in. "I'm unloading some stuff, though," he said.

"'scool. I'll help, if you want."

"Sure."

"Just tell me about everything –"

As Pete began to suspect that perhaps Sheila's offer had not quite been completely selfless, I wisely backed out of the store and drove off.

Reluctantly, I headed for the Echolls estate.

X X X X X

A cheerful Aaron Echolls his own self buzzed me through the front gate. "Sure, Veronica!" He said jovially. "Come on up. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

There were no guards or security in sight – maybe they hadn't come yet. (Or maybe, in his wish-addled state, he thought there were more important things to do in Sunnydale than have them guard his property. Which there were, of course, but under normal circumstances I wouldn't have expected him to think so.)

Logan met me on the front porch, saying "Mars. What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to go into your house. You mind?"

"Very much," Logan said. "If it takes money away from my darling father, it could hurt my mother. And after years of dealing with him, she deserves everything she can get from the bastard."

"Then why are you still here?"

"To stop people from taking advantage of him when he's like this. I couldn't talk him out of this security force idea, but I'm not going to let anyone else take Mom's money from him."

"I'm touched that you think of me that way," I said.

"You've never hesitated to screw people over."

I bit my lip to avoid coming out with a smartass response that would have escalated things, and then said, "Yes, but do I screw them over to make money?"

He started to say something, stopped, then said, "No. Profit's not your main motive."

"Never has been." Not that I sneer at the money people offer me to take their cases, but if I wanted to make money? I knew enough about the students, both in Neptune and here in Sunnydale, to set me up for life.

Curse my father and his well-taught ethical standards.

"That," Logan said, "Means you're planning to screw him over for some other reason."

"And I'll tell you all about it later. I promise," I said. "But right now? I have to go learn all about this elite security force." After he didn't move for a few seconds, I added, "Seriously. I will. Okay?"

Not entirely believing me, but not willing to make a serious issue of it, Logan stepped aside and said, "I'm holding you to that."

"Please do."

Then he opened the door and said, "Dad? Your 10:45 is here!"

Aaron, a big grin on his face, came out from a back room and said, "Funny, son."

"I try, Dad," Logan said, and you could have cut the irony with a butter knife. "If anyone needs me, I'll be elsewhere." He shut the front door behind him.

Aaron said, "Veronica? Come on back to the kitchen. I'll tell you all about it."

With a reluctance I didn't dare show, I walked to the kitchen. I was alone in the house with the man who had murdered Lilly, and gotten away with it in one universe.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

Not today.

Tomorrow was another day, though. Tomorrow, he would pay, and it would distract him and his security force enough to let Buffy et al kill Spike and Drusilla. I wasn't doing it for its own sake, and I wasn't going to screw over Dad, or Xander, in the process.

And the beautiful part? _He'd help me do it himself_.

Because the answer to the question, "Who's the best person at helping me understand the psychology of Aaron Echolls?"

_Is Aaron Echolls_.


	84. Conversation with Dread Person

Author's Note: The end is definitely in sight. Less than a day remains before the bottom of the ninth comes to an end.

Before the story ends, also: You will see the circumstances of "the bet."

X X X X X

The downside to finding out the psychology of Aaron Echolls from Aaron Echolls was that I had to talk to Aaron Echolls to learn it.

And I had to not remotely give away that I wanted the man incarcerated.

I was taking a risk, being alone in the house with the man who'd killed Lilly. I was relying on two things: The wish, and that Logan had seen me go in. Not 100 percent reliable. But the best I could do at the moment.

Smile plastered, I said, "So -"

"So, sit down," he said, projecting joviality, "You had breakfast yet? Anything I can get you?"

"I'm good," I said. "Just some answers."

He sat down and said, "Ask away," still smiling.

Okay, here was the tricky part. I'd start out with something basic. "Who did you hire?"

"About twenty guards from an organization called Whitestone, out of Los Angeles," he said.

"Anything to do with Wolfram & Hart?" I asked, because that would just be the thing to top off this riot.

"Huh? No. I didn't even go through them. Honestly, Veronica," and he spoke to me as though confiding a secret, finally lowering his voice, "They're good lawyers, but they're kind of sleazy."

"Really," I said flatly.

"Oh, yeah. I wanted someone whose reputation was above reproach – these guys are ex-cops and ex-military. They know what they're doing."

Which didn't equate to their reputation being above reproach, of course. I'd look them up, or ask Willow to do the same, depending on how the rest of my day went. This elite security force could be a well-oiled machine, or a bunch of ex-soldiers who just liked violence. I knew damn well that cops and military people weren't _en masse_ a group of bloodthirsty knuckleheads, but there were more than enough of that kind around that I wasn't going to take anything for granted.

Either kind could be dangerous, of course – genuine professionals would know exactly what they were doing, and interfere, and the incompetent ones would be the Sunnydale police, with larger-caliber weapons.

"Good to know."

"You're going to look them up, I take it," Aaron said.

I nodded. "Of course. Not saying I don't trust you -" with my mouth, while screaming it with every other fiber of my being – "But I'd like to be sure."

"Maybe I should have come to your father _before_ I hired the agency," Aaron said ruefully.

"Think about that next time," I said, then had a thought. "Hey – any way you can do that now?"

Shaking his head, he said. "Nope. They're already under contract."

"So, what are your plans?"

"Well, about fifteen of them are getting here later today -" Fifteen? Whoa. "And I was hoping your father could clue them in on the trouble spots. They can't make arrests but if they manage to reduce the crime rate in this town even a little, it'll be worth it."

"Have you talked to Don Lamb?" The Deputy would be having conniptions over this. Different universe or not, his basic character hadn't changed. A conflict between Mayor Wilkins and one of the most famous men in town would probably be won by the Mayor, but it wasn't an easy decision. Aaron Echolls, for all I knew that he was an asshole, had a good public image, even after the revelation of his affair, and Lynn's moving out – and there was a chance, for all that Donnie knew, that Aaron might come out on top, at least at first, and he wouldn't want to be seen as standing in the way of someone trying to make Sunnydale a safer place.

"Yeah," Aaron said. "I've talked to him. He doesn't approve of what I'm doing but he'll have his men take into custody anyone we catch and give him." Arron sounded a bit annoyed by that, but that was more than I expected out of the Deputy. Probably his way of compromising. He wasn't smart enough to play both sides off against each other.

Have I mentioned lately that I don't care for Don Lamb all that much? In case you couldn't tell.

"That's not the worst outcome," I said.

"No, it isn't." After a second, he asked, "So, Veronica: Interested?"

Wasn't going to touch that one yet. Instead I said, "I'm curious. What do you hope to get out of all of this? Besides a safer city, I mean?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"It's more than – most people – around here have done," I said, thinking of both Buffy and Dad. "But – can I be brutally honest?"

Giving me a go-ahead gesture, he said, "Of course. One of the reasons I wanted you and your Dad on board – you won;t hesitate to call anyone or anything out."

Of course we'd hesitate; Dad and I already were hesitating. Aaron had the right broad strokes – Dad and I weren't afraid of telling people things they didn't want to hear – but the wrong detail. "Thanks," I said. "I was thinking more about your reasoning. Aaron, your wife left you, publicly, in the middle of a party where someone you'd had an affair with tried to kill you. A couple of days later, this. While you're dead on about Sunnydale needing a good cleaning up, I can't help but think that this is actually something like what you did back in the high school when you told everyone you'd chased away the gang member – a publicity stunt."

A barked laugh, then, "Yeah, I've been getting that a lot." He didn't seem bitter, just resigned.

"And your answer is?" I prompted.

"It was then – when Lynn was leaving – that I realized how selfish I was," Aaron said. "That I was nothing like the characters I played – and not that much like my public image. I was never a coward -" which was true enough – "But I cheated on my wife – more than once, you know -"

"Really?" I said. "I'm surprised nothing's come out by now." Yes, I was deliberately poking the bear. That was the reason he'd killed Lilly in the first place – he was afraid he was going to expose her, to make his sins public. "Nothing before Viola Kerrigan, I mean."

He winced, "Well – before that I did whatever I could to make sure it didn't. Bribery, threats of legal action, jobs on my next movie – I even did a guest shot on _Cheers_ because I was sleeping with someone on the staff and that was her payoff. Even -" he broke off, guiltily.

Yes, guiltily. The wish _had_ affected his conscience. Not to the level that would have induced spontaneous confessions, but half responsible family men/half action heroes didn't murder comparatively innocent young women.

"Even?" I said, hopefully.

He shook his head. "No, that's not really why you're here. Anyway, if you want proof that this isn't about publicity, I can';t hand you anything ironclad.. But I can say this: I'm not going to hide who I've been. And I'm not going to be that man anymore. Anyone who asks me about the affairs, I'll tell them the truth. This isn't a matter of publicity, Veronica; this is a matter of atonement."

_Jackpot_. But I wasn't going to push any further, not today. I'd achieved part of my aim: Delving into the psyche of Aaron Echolls.

"Okay," I said. "I'll go along with you until you show otherwise."

"I'll try not to disappoint you." He sounded sincere.

Now for the other part: Checking the security force. "So, the folks from Whitestone are getting here later today?"

"Yes."

"What are your plans? Just set them loose on an unsuspecting town?"

Chuckling, he said, "No. I was hoping your Dad could tell them about the trouble spots, he seems less interested than you are."

"We both like our independence," I said. "I'll tell you what, though: Without committing to anything else, I'm willing to do that – but it can't be today, because I'm pretty much booked for most of the rest of the day."

He winced a little. "No offense, Veronica, but these are professionals here. _I_ know how good you are, but that's one of the reasons I wanted your Dad here."

Right. Murderer has a point. I might be useful as backup and to tell them about crimes Dad might not be as up on – local gangs, things like that, if we had any, which we didn't, at least in a human sense – but they wouldn't buy me telling them the ins and outs of the entire Sunnydale scene. Damn. I needed an adult, and I only trusted two implicitly – and Giles would be busy tomorrow, and Dad, of course, was entirely out of the question –

Wait. Check that. _Three_. Not Ms. Calendar, if that's what you're thinking. She and I hadn't interacted a whole hell of a lot, officially; I'd never taken her computer class.

Rae Mistwood, though –

"Okay, so if I get someone else in here who knows the town, who isn't Dad, who would know about the trouble spots, and I backed her up, would that do?"

"Who do you have in mind?"

"Local business owner. Rae Mistwood."

"Don't know her."

"Ask Logan. He's met her." As soon as I said it, I winced. I hadn't exactly thrown Logan in front of a speeding bus, but he'd have to explain _how_ he knew the owner of a magic shop."

Or not. "No, I trust you; you're not the type to bring in some hobo pretending to be a business owner." I was perfectly willing to bring in a ringer, but that particular iteration smacked of '80s sitcom. I wasn't quite that desperate, yet.

"Okay, then. I'll need to set things up with her -" but mostly Giles, and Angel, and Buffy, – "And I'll call you and let you know when."

He nodded his head. "Sounds good. Any other questions?"

Let's see. He has a conscience; it's being poked by the conditions of the wish, but not forced into confession, yet; and I have the elite security force locked down tight, here, tomorrow, at the same time as the raid. "I'm good," I said. "Thanks for taking the time."

"I want you on board, Veronica. I'm hoping you'll bring your Dad with you, but if that won;t happen, I'm happy to have you."

Once again, sincerity, and not the faked kind.

I stood up. "Good to hear. I'll let you know tomorrow."

He extended a hand. With no hesitation, much as I wanted to slap the hand, or spit on it, I shook it, said goodbye, and left.

Next step: pick up Sheila.

First next step: Call Buffy.

Really first next step: Call _Rae_.

Really, truly, first next step: Go home and shower.

X X X X X

Think I'm kidding? That's exactly what I did. I may have come across to Aaron as being as open and cheerful as he was being, but I was gritting my teeth internally the entire damn way. The only being in Sunnydale I would have had less fun sitting across from would have been Drusilla.

Yes, I'm including Spike,

Hell, I'm including _Snyder._

Dad was out, so no awkward explanations were needed.

First, I called the magic shop and arranged to pick up Sheila in about a half hour or so. Then I called Buffy; no answer, so I tried Giles, first the home number, then the library number.

He picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" I said the same. "Ah. Miss Mars. Buffy informed me that Miss Kelly's tracking spell was a success."

"I expected as much. I assume now you're having a council of war? Because, if so, I need to get in on the tactical planning." I explained my conversation with Aaron Echolls.

"We are still trying to decide when the best time to attack is," he said. "Fortunately, Angel will be – in play, as it were; the Sunnydale sewer system, in having entrances into every building in town, did not exempt the bus depot."

"Good. Let me know as soon as you can."

"We shall."

I hung up and then called Rae at home and once again explained things. "Are you okay with doing that?" I asked.

"If it's as important as you say," she said, "Then of course, I'm okay. I'll get Pete to cover the shop again tomorrow."

Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief. I would have pulled out every trick in the book to get Rae to go along -.

actually, not _every_ trick. Even though I was a goal-oriented type of girl and always would be, I had had it battered into me that using my friends to win a point wasn't healthy for me, and it wasn't fair to the person that was getting used. Even for something as important as this, which could very well mean my life, I wasn't willing to blackmail or browbeat. I would have found another way. I was just glad I hadn't had to.

I drove down to get Sheila, and when I entered the magic shop I found myself getting the (metaphoric, and in Sunnydale you do need to specify) evil eye from Pete. "I hear it's you I have to thank for having to give up my Sunday off," he said.

Since I couldn't tell how much, if any, of the annoyance in his voice was faked, I simply said, chipperly, "You're welcome!"

A slightly sour look on his face, he said, "That wasn't actually a thank you."

"I know!"

"Uh-huh. Try to warn me next time, okay?"

"If I could have, I would."

Apparently satisfied that that was the best he was going to get, he said, "She's in the back."

This time, Sheila wasn't meditating; she was creating darkness spells of various sizes. "Hey, manhunter," she said.

"And this is?"

"'m tryin' to figure a way to do that sun spell without burning out eyeballs," she said. "Addin' a darkness spell – a small one – might knock it down a bit. Still kill the vampires, but not blind the caster – case any vamps aren't caught in the spell."

It was a worthy goal. "And how are your experiments going?"

A small frown. "Not 'swell as I'd like. Fine tunin's a bitch."

"Can the bitch wait? I need to update you on the battle plan."

A small evil grin appearing on her face, Sheila said, "Sure. Frustrated right now anyway."

We left; I apologized to Pete on the way out, again, but he waved his hands and told me not to worry about it.

Good. Still not looking to piss people off, unintentionally. Even though, per Logan, it's one of my greatest skills.

X X X X X

The time came down later that day: The assault would go down at 1:15 PM. I called first, Rae, to make sure 12:45 tomorrow afternoon would be an okay meeting time (it would), then Aaron Echolls to confirm that the folks from Whitestone would be available at around 1 the next afternoon (he said they would be, or they wouldn't get paid), then Xander to see if he would have any interest in, at least, screwing over Aaron Echolls, and possibly getting him to confess (wild horses, you get the drill), Willow to see if she would be willing to do any research on Whitestone (despite her burgeoning interest in magic, she was still so the net girl) and then made sure Sheila would be available then also.

"Have to check my social calendar," S heila said. "Think I can work you in."

And that, dear friends, was all of interest that happened that day. Middle afternoon on was as boring as boring could be.

The universe giving me some down time before the big day?

I'm not naïve enough to assume so. But I'm not going to turn it down, either.

The plan was set.

There was no plan B, and I was expecting the unexpected, so I assumed that sometime tomorrow I'd have to pull something out of my hat in a desperate attempt to keep things on track, and me from losing the bet.

Sure, everything _could_ go right.

But I'm not naïve enough to assume that, either.


	85. Unbecoming

No dreams that night – none I remembered. Not even about porcupines. I guess Lilly's final warning had come last night, and with two outs and the bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth the Adversary was more interested in umpiring than in giving me any final messages.

I woke up, slowly – it was 7:15 AM. Of course I wouldn't get to sleep late, today of all days, but there was no damn way I was going to get back to sleep now.

I tiptoed over Sheila – still there, of course, since Mabel aka Grace Kelly was still on the clock – and, after throwing on some sneakers and sweatpants, took Backup out for a morning run.

I have my priorities. No matter what happens, the dog comes first.

Backup, being a good dog, was kind enough to never take advantage of this. We walked briskly for about fifteen minutes and then headed back home.

They say dogs can tell when things are wrong. If Backup could tell, he gave no sign.

I actually would have been more worried had he been worried. He's a confident dog. If something makes him nervous, it means there's a lot to be nervous about. So maybe he had read the situation and wasn't showing anything to make me feel better.

Okay, I'm overanalyzing again. You face the culmination of a bet with a power who could probably take down the Justice League, the X-Men, and every Jedi Knight ever without breaking a sweat, you see how you handle it. I hadn't run screaming into the wilderness or gone out of my mind, so I was counting that as a victory.

Dad was up when we got back. He'd shown no signs last night of having any idea that I'd been to the Echolls estate the previous day, and this? Wouldn't have been something he would have hidden or tried to trap me on. His opinion of Aaron was more or less mine: That the man was a dangerous, sociopathic killer. His desire to keep me safe (and then figure out what the holy hell I'd been thinking, going over there on my own) would have trumped any desire to catch me in the act.

And in his position? I would have felt exactly the same way. Under 99.9% of circumstances being with Aaron Echolls, alone except for a handful of skulking servants who would probably do anything their boss paid them to do, would have been mind-blowingly stupid. Even knowing that his personality had been altered by the wish Anyanka granted, it wasn't exactly in the top fifty percent of smartest moves ever.

But it was all I could think of.

Anyway, Dad said, "You're up early."

"It's deductive abilities like that that made you the ace detective you are, Dad. Next you'll be telling me what I was doing outside."

"It has something to do with the dog, right?"

The dog looked up at him as if to say, I have a name, you know.

"Everything. As you well know."

He reached down and skritched Backup's head. Backup accepted the skritching with pleasure, but the look on his face was clearly This Isn't Over. "Anyway, while you were gone I got a call about a bail jumper who was spotted in Santa Carolita, so I'm heading up there as soon as I'm done my coffee."

"So I'm on my own today?"

"Yup. Anything on tap?"

"No business, today, anyway," I said. "We tracked down the homeless man yesterday, so today's wide open. Probably do some homework, hang out with Sheila, plot an invasion or two." Of course, I'd blown off my homework this weekend. If there was ever a weekend to blow off homework, this was it. In the unlikely event I made it to Monday, I'd bluff my way through the day.

"Just try to stay to the rear, honey," Dad said.

"I will, I promise," I said. "And you be careful with the bail jumper, okay?"

"Same promise." He kissed the top of my forehead, swigged down the remnants of his coffee, and left.

Well, that was a relief, at least. One potential source of "improvise your plan B" problems gone.

This being Sunnydale, that was one out of dozens. But I would take whatever I could get.

X X X X X

After Sheila woke up, I considered asking her to throw together a tracking spell on Dad just to see if he was trying to set me up, but I reminded myself that Sheila was my friend, not someone to be used on a whim.

She would have done it, I think, had I asked. That's not the point.

As she gulped down a bite of cereal, she said, "So. Plans today? Besides the obvious?"

"Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln?" I asked.

And there was that evil grin. "Something like that."

"A brief planning session with you, me, and Xander."

"Why's Harris coming along? You never said."

"For a reason. Xander and I know something that only two other people in Sunnydale know."

"And?"

"And distracting Whitestone isn't the only reason we're going to the Echolls estate."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Said you'd tell me. I can wait a couple of hours. Till then, though, you think I'm going to let you sit here and start thinkin' up ways this can go wrong, you're out of your skull, manhunter. It's unbecomin'. Now, when and where're we meetin' Harris?"

"Library. Final war council, around 11."

"And Snyder?"

"Let him try."

"Alright," Sheila said. "Gives us two hours. We'll find something to do."

X X X X X

Sunnydale on a Sunday morning? Not exactly action central. We found nothing to do but talk, which was something to do –

And enough. True to her word, any time I started drifting into thoughts of the ways today could go wrong, she yanked me back by talking about the ways things could go right.

Her optimism wasn't infectious, but it was distracting. Distracting enough to get me to the library without letting me go too far on tilt.

I've said it before, I think, but it bears repeating: If today's events were in the course of the normal run of this universe – had I been part of the Buffyverse all along instead of shoehorned in rather awkwardly – then the nervousness? Gone. Anxiety isn't a normal watchword for Veronica Mars. Overconfidence, now, that's another story.

So I was really damned glad Sheila was here.

We walked, we talked, we stopped for coffee, and we came back to my place and drove over to the high school for the "war council."

Of all people, Duncan called me as I was pulling into the Sunnydale High parking lot, wondering if I had the time next week to take a couple of pictures for the paper. He'd "apologized" by talking to me again and not once attacking my father, or me. It hadn't been what I'd hoped for, but the last few weeks? I needed as few big emotional confrontations as I could get. Duncan talking to me without trying to snap me or my father's head off was the best I could do.

I told him I'd take the photos, hung up, and we headed inside.

Xander, defying stereotype, had brought neither donuts nor Twinkies.

Okay, he brought danishes, so the basic concept still holds, but still, good to see him stretch.

It was a full house, not counting Rae, who wasn't showing up till later. "I see we're fashionably late," I said.

"'scool," Sheila said. "You know how much I like to make an entrance."

After greeting and being greeted, I said, "Mr. Giles. Is the VCR set up?"

"In my office."

"I did the setting up," Willow said.

"I wasn't claiming to have done it myself," Giles said mildly.

"Good. Xander?"

The good humor immediately left his face. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

He nodded. "Okay. I'll trust you on this." The undertone was, and you'd damn well better not be wrong.

I wouldn't be.

"What's going on?" Cordelia asked suspiciously.

"We're going into the office to watch a videotape," I said. "No, you can't come."

As Cordelia opened her mouth, Buffy said, "Chill out, Cordy. I'm not going in there either. Neither's Willow, or Giles, or Angel." Cordelia shut her mouth, sulkily. I didn't blame her for being annoyed. I still wasn't going to tell her. Neither was Xander, though it had taken me some time to convince him why we needed to tell Sheila and not Cordelia.

We shut the door behind us. I didn't bother scanning the room for bugs – I'd taken the one out of the main room of the library weeks ago, anyway, and the recorder attached to the office phone wouldn't record unless the phone was off the hook.

I put in the tape and paused it. "This is important," I said. "There is a reason what's on this tape has stayed secret. Only four people know what's on it."

Xander said, "Me, you, your father -"

"The other guy doesn't know we have the tape," I said.

"Right."

"'son this tape has you and Harris conspirin' and Harris, you're more serious than've ever seen you. 'sgotta be important. Roll the tape. I'll keep the secret."

Nothing more needed to be said. I pressed play.

Three minutes later, Sheila said, "'ve seen enough. What the holy fuck –?"

Xander said, grimly, "You know we hate Aaron Echolls. Now you know why."

"He killed Lilly Kane," Sheila said.

"Yep." I gave her a thirty-second precis of my theory why. That theory happened to be true, but I had plenty of justification, so no reason for the Adversary to declare I'd violated the terms of the bet.

"Okay. 'dja want me to kill him with magic or something?"

"No," I said firmly. "Not unless it's a last resort." Faith in the criminal justice system? Don't be ridiculous. Anyone who knew Don Lamb, and who had seen Aaron Echolls buy his way out of an open and shut murder charge, had damned little faith in the justice system.

But killing him _before proving him guilty_? It would make him a martyr. And death becomes martyrs.

"Then why?"

"Because we're really trying to distract him. While Rae's busy giving the folks from Whitestone a briefing on the high-risk areas of the town – you know, pretty much anywhere not within 100 feet of Buffy, my Dad or Clarence Weidman – we're going to be talking to Aaron and trying to break him down."

After a second or two of thought, Sheila said, "Like the idea, but if he's psycho enough to kill Lilly for why you thought, what makes you think he ain't gonna whack us too?" A pause, then, "Or is that why I'm there? Defense?"

Xander said, "Because he's a changed man."

"Huh?"

"The wish Lynn Echolls made," I said. "Seems to have given him a conscience now. Not enough of one to make him confess, but enough that it's bugging him."

"So we're going to try to make him confess?"

"Yes."

What's that, you say? The Adversary told me to stop concentrating on Aaron Echolls?

And so have I done. Ever since, I've been the support crew at best to my Dad's attempt to prove him guilty.

But this fell into my lap. With a Wish, true, but under the circumstances I would have had to try to distract Aaron Echolls anyway.

And what better way to distract him than by accusing him of murder?

Okay, I may be spinning things heavily in my favor. But not ridiculously so.

Sheila, meanwhile, was nodding. "I can get behind that."

"We needed you to be on board," Xander said. "Actually, we kinda needed you not to be shocked when we tell the bastard off."

"Like I said. I'll kill him if you want." She was absolutely serious.

"And once again, _no_," I said.

"Okay. You gonna tell Rae?"

"No. She'll be spending most of her time with the Whitestone people."

"Good. I'm in."

We spent about fifteen more minutes hashing out our own strategy. Sheila kept refusing to let me speculate on things that could go wrong, and Xander wouldn't, for some reason, so that put is in the odd position of Sheila inventing problems and Xander and I figuring out ways around them.

Once things were settled, we headed out to the main room, where Buffy and Giles were having a polite argument about tactics and strategy. Giles was arguing for stealth, while Buffy was going for the "kick the door down and startle them" angle.

Angel was simply providing expertise where asked, Cordelia was clearly bored out of her gourd, and Willow was following along with interest but not really saying anything.

"Veronica!" Buffy said. "You're smart, right?"

"Yeah, but you're planning something kind of military. I'm not exactly Douglas MacArthur. You're looking to con Spike and Drusilla, I'm your woman. Looking to invade their headquarters? You guys are the experts."

"The 'experts' are disagreeing," Cordelia said sarcastically.

"And the amateur isn't going to be able to settle the issue," I said. Then I had a thought. "One thing, though. At least with a couple of the decisions, flip a coin."

"Why would we do that?" Giles asked.

"Because you're dealing with an enemy who's capable of predicting the future. Even if she's not exactly consistent about it. I've been here for part of this, and God knows my presence screws her up there, but I don't know if I've been here enough to completely throw her off. Flip the coin."

Nodding, Angel said, "She's right. Dru could know we're coming. Or she could have just seen the weather. And none of this means she would actually tell anyone, or that they'd understand her if she did. She might think it's whimsical to tell them in French. Still, why risk it? Flip a coin."

Buffy looked at Giles. "Heads for me, tails for you?"

Giles said, "Agreed. Cordelia?"

"Why me?" Cordelia asked.

"Because you neither know nor care who's right," Giles said.

"Isn't that the truth," Cordelia said.

"Cordelia's been pushing for them to burn the depot down," Willow said.

"Well, duh! Lot less likely to kill any of you losers, and a lot more likely to kill all of them, and you could even stay in the sewers to make sure they don't get out that way."

"We've explained -"

"Yeah, yeah. I don't know why I'm here if you're not going to listen to anything I say anyway. Just give me the damn coin."

Cordelia took it, flipped it. Tails. "Happy?" she asked.

"Delighted," Giles said. "Now -"

Twenty minutes later their plan was also settled, with everyone contributing. Giles was going to get things started by shattering the blacked-out front windows and then firing crossbow bolts into the building, staying in the sunlight the entire time, and away from any sewer entrances. (Shattering the windows had been Sheila's idea.) Buffy would wait about thirty seconds, kick in a side entrance, then run around and come in through another door. Angel would wait in the sewers for a couple of minutes, taking care of anyone retreating that way, and then would come up and attack. Fire, to Cordelia's delight, would be used as a last resort, with Giles ready to call the fire department if necessary. (The bus depot was reasonably isolated.)

Buffy and Angel's scouting the previous evening had seen ten vampires, counting Spike and Dru, so they were figuring on fourteen or so, to be on the safe side. Coins were flipped a couple of times along the way, and I reiterated that Spike and Drusilla were the main targets, so that the other vampires could be ignored if absolutely necessary.

Rae came in as Cordelia and Willow were leaving. "Is everything ready?" She asked.

"Everything is," I said.

_Exeunt omnes._

Showtime.


	86. Degradation Day

And then we rode madly off in all directions.

Well, not literally all. But Angel left via the sewer system, Willow on her bike, Giles and Buffy in the Citroen, Cordelia in Queen C, and Xander and Sheila with me, with Rae following, so that's four different directions right there.

When we got to the Echolls estate, we were a few minutes early. We made sure everything was set, as Rae came over and said, "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

"Yes. And there's a reason, and you know neither Sheila nor I would do anything likely to get you hurt." Sheila nodded in agreement.

"I know," she said. "But considering who I saw at the school, I think I'm justified in being a little worried."

"Not here, you don't." Not if I have Aaron pegged right, and even if I have him pegged wrong, not if Sheila has anything to say about it. "The dangerous part is elsewhere."

"Got it."

"So," Xander said with mock joviality. "Ready to go in there and distract us some guards?"

"'ts degradation day," Sheila said.

So I walked across the street, everyone following me, and rang the buzzer at the front gate. "Mars, Mistwood and friends here to see Aaron Echolls and – friends," I said.

A few seconds later we were buzzed onto the grounds. The door was opened when I got there – and that's when the first of no doubt many spanners was thrown into our works.

Aaron was there to greet us.

As was Logan.

And Lynn.

Logan, we'd factored in. Lynn, we hadn't expected.

"What -"

"Oh," Aaron said cheerfully, "Lynn dropped by to pick up a few things and I convinced her to stay to see what I was doing."

"Come, father dear," Logan said. "The word is 'begged,' not 'convinced.'"

Lynn looked irritated, but she didn't look like she was being browbeaten into staying, and one thing about Logan: He'd take shit himself, but he wouldn't let anyone give his mother a hard time. "The important thing, son," Aaron said, "Is that she's staying." He looked up and realized for the first time that Rae wasn't the only person I'd brought with me. Still smiling, he said, "You must be Rae Mistwood."

"Yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Echolls. Mrs. Echolls -"

"Ms. Lester," Lynn said firmly, earning her an aggrieved look from Aaron, which bothered exactly no one in the room.

"Ms. Lester, then," she said. "And good to see you again, Logan."

"You've met Ms. Mistwood?" Aaron asked.

"I get around," Logan said.

A good straight line, but I wasn't here to take shots at Logan. Despite my earlier concerns, Aaron seemed willing to accept the non-explanation, and simply turned and said, "And who's this?"

Logan answered before I could, saying, "Father, you remember Sheila Kelly, of course, and this is Xander Harris. Harris makes sense, but what Kelly's doing here I have no idea. I've honestly always thought her the type to be causing criminal activity instead of trying to prevent it."

This, at lest, we'd planned for. Sheila smiled and said, "'ve reformed."

Logan rolled his eyes, but I said, "And besides, even if she has a past, who better to know where things are happening than a former bad influence? Look. If you're concerned, I give you my word: Sheila is here neither to steer Whitestone wrong, nor to swipe your silver."

"She had plenty of chances when she was here a couple of months ago, son," Aaron said. "If Veronica trusts her, so do I."

"Your mistake," Logan muttered.

"So I figured the more, the merrier, in telling the folks at Whitestone where the trouble spots are." I looked around and saw a disturbing lack of elite security forces. "And the nice folks from Whitestone are –?"

"In the backyard," Aaron said. "Ready to go whenever you are."

"Rae?"

"I'm ready."

"We figured Rae would talk first and then Xander, Sheila and I would go out there and cover anything she might not know about."

"Sounds good," Aaron said. "Rae?"

He led Rae outside; I heard someone muttering "ten-hut!" which fit what Willow had told me about Whitestone. They did have a good reputation, overall; she hadn't found many complaints about them. They definitely all were ex-military or ex-police, but their employees weren't from the low end of the scale; i.e., if you're a thug who likes killing things, look elsewhere. Aaron couldn't have done better if he'd been competent.

Lynn walked over by the door, though she wasn't enthusiastic about it. Logan hung back with us, waiting until she was as far away as possible before muttering, "Okay, Mars. What the hell are you up to?"

Okay, it was decided whether to lay it on the line time. Our prep dictated that what to tell Logan was entirely up to me, though Sheila and Xander would follow my lead.

We would not be telling him the whole truth, not under these circumstances. Not with Lynn here. "Put some thought into it," I said. "You know I'm not after money and I maneuvered your father into bringing everyone from Whitestone here. What does that tell you?"

Logan Echolls wasn't stupid. "It means you wanted Dad and Whitestone here because someone's doing something somewhere else. Your father, probably."

"Almost exactly right," I said. "Something important is happening and this thing with Whitestone stood a chance of screwing it up."

"And you're here because?" Logan directed at Xander.

Xander smirked. "She's paying me."

"And if I paid you more?"

Xander shook his head. "Oh, that wouldn't work. Once a Harris is bought, he stays bought."

"I won't bother asking you, Kelly," Logan said. "If Mars asked you to kill all of us in our sleep, you would."

"Messily as possible," Sheila said with her usual evil grin. "But manhunter wouldn't do that."

"No, anyone I want dead I'm perfectly capable of taking down myself," I said.

"Okay. And it has nothing to do with me or my mother?"

And this was where those finely honed truth evasion skills came in. "No," I said, and it was the truth and nothing but. The whole truth? That's another story.

Logan nodded. "You'd damn well better not be lying, Mars."

"I like your mother, Logan."

Right then, Lynn came back towards us then, followed about five seconds later by Aaron. "Ms. Mistwood said she was more comfortable talking to them without me being there." After a couple of seconds, he said, "But she's doing great out there so far. So, can I get you kids anything?"

"We're good," I said. "Look, we wanted to go over with you what we're going to tell the people from Whitestone," I said. "Is that okay?"

Aaron sat down in the nearest chair, giving a go-ahead gesture. "Shoot."

Oh, I'd like to.

"In the meantime, mother," Logan said, "I had something I wanted to ask you. May we?"

"Of course!" Lynn said with gratitude on her face, and they walked away. As they did, Logan shot me a "you owe me" look.

We'd had no idea where Aaron would be, of course, but we'd actually set up where we were going to be in relation to him. I stood in front of him to my left, and Xander stood next to me. Sheila took up a position somewhere to our right, where if Aaron was looking at us he really couldn't be looking at her.

"I don't know why you wanted to rehearse; you're one of the most confident people I know," Aaron said.

"Well, you should know, Mr. Echolls," Xander said, "Confidence and confidence talking to a group of people's a whole different thing."

"True enough. Well, go ahead, Veronica; hit me."

Oh, I'd like to.

"I was going to lead off by saying," I began, "That pretty much everywhere in this town is a danger zone, because apart from when my Dad was sheriff I can't think of a whole lot of places people haven't been killed or attacked. Hell, you were there when that gang invaded the school."

"I was," Aaron said.

"'s attacked right outside a club," Sheila said, "Till Veronica saved me."

"My best friend," Xander said tightly, "Was killed in a club. Gang members."

"And my best friend was killed in her own backyard," I said. Aaron started slightly, so slightly you wouldn't have seen it if you hadn't known to look for it. "By person or persons unknown, now that Dad proved that Jake Kane paid off Abel Koontz."

"Do – do the police have any leads?"

"In Sunnydale? Don Lamb's probably still sulking about getting upstaged, and the rest of the force here combined don't have the brains to open a can of soda. That's why you were bringing in Whitestone, I thought: Because the Sunnydale Sheriff's office as currently constituted couldn't possibly track down who killed Lilly Kane, much less have been able to prevent the murder."

"That's true enough," he said after a second. Then, taking a deep breath, "Anything else?"

"Does talking about Lilly's murder bug you, Mr. Echolls?" Xander asked.

Letting out a deep breath, Aaron said, "Yeah, it does, a little. Things like that – things like that happen to -"

"People like me?" Sheila asked.

"Yeah. No offense meant."

It offended the hell out of me, and I wasn't the target, so I know it offended Sheila and Xander, but they didn't let it show.

"'sall good," Sheila said. "I know enough about you not to let that bother me." Clever, clever girl. The exact truth but meaning something entirely different from how Aaron would interpret it.

"Thanks," Aaron said gratefully. "So when someone kills someone – well, someone more like me -"

"Some complete and total bastard," Xander said. "Go on."

Aaron said, "Well, then, that makes you realize exactly how deep the problem is. I'm only sorry it took me so long to come to the conclusion I did – that this town needs help." He shook his head. "And yes, the person who killed Lilly was a complete bastard." Oh-so-slight emphasis on the was. He was going for redemption here, even if he'd been magicked into seeking it.

The Buffyverse allowed for redemption.

It also allowed for backsliding.

That he was a changed man was irrelevant. You don't get your damned redemption if you weren't responsible.

"I'm glad you agree," I said. "I'm hoping that somewhere along the way Whitestone might be persuaded to help find the person – even if they're not investigators. Give that to my Dad and I'm sure he'll join up."

A flat out lie, of course.

"I'll think about it," he said. "Anyway. We're off topic -"

"Oh, I'd say Lilly's death is as on topic as it gets," Xander said. "But yeah, we asked you to help us rehearse, not to discuss the brutal murder of a friend. Veronica?"

I took a deep breath and began talking about some of the other places in Sunnydale that were trouble spots, and while the answer actually was pretty much everywhere, restricted myself to those I had personal knowledge of –

And I stayed away from my rape. It wasn't that I wasn't willing to discuss it; I'd investigated it twice. It was that I wasn't willing to discuss it with him.

Think we're giving up? Not hardly. This is part of the plan. Knock him off balance, give him a little bit to recover, and then knock him down. If he'd confessed already, that would have been terrific, but we weren't counting on it. (Sheila's positioning was just in case.)

So far, so good.

Sheila talked next, and briefly, about a couple of clubs in town that weren't the Bronze; clubs that catered to a less mainstream clientele, clubs I'd actually been in, of course, in the course of my investigations, but which I wasn't really familiar with.

Then Xander took over, hitting on some of the school tragedies.

When we were done, Aaron blinked. "Wow. I knew it was bad, but I had no idea it was that bad -"

"It is." And it was. The only thing we hadn't mentioned to Aaron, of course, is that 90 percent of the crime was caused by things that were other than human. Things that even trained commando-types like Whitestone, not being specifically trained in the hows and wherefores of demon-hunting like the folks from the Initiative were, would have had a hard time taking down.

Which was another excellent reason, of course, to stop this "elite security force" from roaming throughout Sunnydale looking for trouble spots: They were a whole lot less likely to get themselves killed. It was another good reason to get Aaron to confess to Lilly's murder while we could; they weren't the types to cheerfully work for confessed killers.

That's forward thinking, of course, when I might not exactly be "forward." But on the off chance I was, I couldn't in good conscience let Whitestone get killed. I couldn't have even if Willow'd shown them to be unprincipled thugs.

"Then," Aaron said, "The people from Whitestone are definitely going to want to hear this."

"'swhy we came," Sheila said.

"I'm going to go out and check to see how Ms. Mistwood's doing," he said, got up, and went to the backyard.

As if on a mechanical clock, Logan came into the room on a beeline for us. "Did you get what you needed?" he asked. Sheila and Xander walked to the back, to check on Rae.

"Almost," I said. "I'm waiting for a phone call. Where's your mother?"

"Looking out the window at Rae Mistwood," he said. "She actually doesn't think father dearest's idea is a bad one; she just doesn't trust his reasons for doing it."

"And of course, we can't tell him that his reasons are actually good, even if they're not his."

"Yes," Logan said.

"I thought you knew. I swear. You already know that magic exists; what would my percentage be in covering it up?"

"What is it ever?" he snapped, then said. "Look, Veronica. I actually believe you. That just doesn't make this balancing act that's been shoved down my throat any easier."

"I know."

"You know?"

"Trust me. You think you're doing a balancing act?" Right then my cell phone rang. "Excuse me," I said

Logan nodded slightly as I turned away. "Hello?"

An out-of-breath Buffy was on the other end. "Veronica. We're done."

"We are?" I looked around. No Adversary.

"Yup. The assault went almost as planned."

"Almost?" I didn't like that word, almost.

"Yeah. Let me tell you what happened . . ."


	87. Gravy

Funny thing is (Buffy began), there was a chance me and Giles wouldn't get there at all and it's all because of an old friend of yours.

See, Giles and I waited in the school parking lot for a few minutes before we took off, because Angel had to go on foot. Vampires can sprint for a lot longer than people can, but they're not up to superspeed or anything. And right as we were ready to go, Sheriff Lamb pulled up.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked.

"How is that any concern of yours?" Giles asked.

"Trespassing's against the law."

"So's false arrest," I said.

"I am the school librarian," Giles said. "This is one of my students. This is not trespassing for either of us."

"We'll just see about that," Lamb said. "You just stay here while I check."

"We have things to do," Buffy said.

"Not any more, you don't."

I took a step forward, but Giles held a hand out. "No, Buffy."

Lamb looked up. "Were you about to threaten me?"

"No, she wasn't," Giles said. "I was."

"Really?"

"Remember when I made certain that you would not do damage to Miss Mars' car under the guise of 'investigating' whether she'd had anything to do with those brutal murders?"

[Veronica noting, here: The LeBaron was returned intact. Giles' politely worded threats paid off. Not as though I expected otherwise.]

"Yeah," I said, "By the way, how's that investigation going?"

Lambie glared at me, then looked at Giles and said, "Yeah. I remember that," and he definitely sounded pissed about it, too.

"Consider that, then, should you detain us for no good reason," Giles said. I don't see this side of Giles a whole lot, but he sounded like he was ready to tear Lamb's head off.

"I'm not afraid," Lamb said. "Go ahead and go over my head. You really think the Mayor's going to believe a troublemaker like Summers here? Or you?"

"Lambie, Lambie," I said. "I don't think Giles was talking about making a formal protest."

Lamb finally realized what Giles was saying, took a step back, and said, "Do you know who you're talking to?"

"An incompetent police officer who got his job solely because his far-more-competent predecessor was fired for the sin of annoying the wrong people," Giles said. "One who is so little respected that a powerful man in this town is going through the effort of hiring a private security force to do the job he can't. How credible do you believe you are, exactly?"

And then Lambie said, "Okay. I'll let you go for now."

And Giles smiled and said, "Thank you, Sheriff Lamb. Buffy? Shall we?"

In other words, all he'd been doing is giving us a hard time. Veronica, even if he hadn't screwed over your father, I think I'd hate his guts.

[Veronica noting, again. Deputy Lamb is indeed incompetent and corrupt, but he's not a coward. It doesn't take a coward to back down in the face of a threat from Giles, but had he actually thought Giles and Buffy were up to something he wouldn't have let Giles' threats stop him.]

Anyway, Lambie hadn't slowed us down too much – we still had plenty of time to make it to the depot. (We'd actually done that old thing where you synchronize your watches, otherwise Angel would have just had to strain to listen to know when we were attacking, and he had to be on full alert for anyone making a break for it.

We got to the depot in time, but without much time to do anything more than have me and Giles wish each other luck as we scrambled into position. I quickly checked the door to see if it was unlocked. It wasn't.

3, 2, 1 . . .

0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 . . .

I finally heard the windows shatter, counted down from 25, and slammed my weight against the door as hard as I could.

One of the nerdiest-looking vamps I've ever seen – I mean, seriously, the guy looked like Willow could've taken him with one hand tied behind her back – jumped up from a chair where he was reading something and yelled "She's in here" before booking it for the doorway.

He didn't make it. A couple of steps and then I was on him. He said, "I can tell you something!"

I never found out what he could tell me – probably he was just trying to buy his life, not like that'd ever worked before – because two other vamps came running through the doorway.

As one of them growled, "Slayer," I staked the one I was on and sprang to my feet.

[Veronica, noting: That was almost certainly Dalton. _Ave atque vale_.]

"Yes, that's right," I said. "I'm the Slayer. God, can't you people come up with any original lines?"

There was another scream from the front of the building, so I was thinking that Giles was still getting in some good shots. Must be some dumb vampires not to have moved their bloodthirsty asses away the second the sunlight came pouring in, but you know, except for Angel, Spike and maybe the Master, vamps aren't really known for their intelligence.

The vamps looked at each other, shrugged, and said, "Not really."

Then they charged.

Rookies, both of 'em. I had them dusted in about five seconds.

Another one looked through the doorway, saw me, and yelled out, "Spike! Slayer's over here!" as he ran away.

Okay, maybe some of them did have a brain cell or two.

I ran after him, down a small hallway; these were the offices, obviously. Way in the distance, I could hear the sound of fighting, though it was muffled.

Some of them had tried to run out through the sewers and had found Angel there waiting.

Cool.

Another one jumped me right before I got to the door at the end of the hall – I head him about a half second before he hit me and had just enough time to throw myself forward, so he didn't pin me against the wall like he'd been trying; instead, he knocked me forward and to my left, so I crashed through the door and fell.

I looked up and found myself in the main room of the depot; it was like 100 feet long and the sun lit it up nicely, mostly from the big hole in the front window. About half of the benches were intact; the rest were broken and scattered around the floor. As I sprang to my feet, I saw four vampires; one was favoring an arm and another was limping.

Behind them, I saw Spike. He yelled "Slayer!" angrily.

Yeah, he could pull it off. Don't know why.

"That would be me, Spike," I said.

"What the bleeding hell do you think you're doing?"

"Attacking you," I said. "Really, Spike, this isn't hard."

Then he got serious. "No. It won't be. Boys. Go throw things at the man outside. Try not to get yourselves killed."

"You sure?"

"Are you fucking deaf?" he howled. "I said, _go!_"

They moved out of the way, to the front of the room, staying away from the sun.

The vampire behind chose to take this opportunity to impress his boss with his initiative, and tried to jump on my back.

I thrust behind me and dusted him in mid-jump. Huh. You never really can be a hundred percent sure you're aiming correctly with a strike like that.

Spike took advantage of the distraction to pick up a broken piece of bench and throw it at my head. I dodged to the side and let it smash into the wall behind me. "Missed," I said.

"A mistake I won't make again."

We circled, getting slowly closer to each other, neither one wanting to be the first to charge in. I kicked a few other benchy things out of the way – tripping over them in the middle of the fight was not exactly the way I wanted to go out.

There were some more sounds of fighting from the back. Angel must've finally climbed out. Couldn't be too many vamps even back thereat this point.

"Any day now," I said. Me and Spike had both been distracted, and really it was time to get back on track.

"In that much of a rush to get dead? Fine."

He jumped.

I could've dodged, but I wasn't here to avoid getting hurt, I was here to kill him – well, him and his looney tune girlfriend.

Where the hell was Dru, anyway?

I didn't have time to figure it out right then, because Spike and I were busy slugging it out with each other. He was _real_ pissed. I mean, more so than normal. As bad as when you threatened Dru's life, back in the church, only then he was calm and angry and now he was real raga.

Because he was so ticked, he wasn't being subtle.

That didn't make it much easier, though, because Spike not being subtle was still better than most vamps who weren't the Master. I had all I could handle.

So did he, though.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the vampires towards the front of the room turn to dust.

Spike jumped on top of one of the benches to dodge a low blow; I kicked the bench out from under him and he fell to the floor. I scrambled to stake him before he could get up, but he was too fast. I caught his right shoulder, but he ripped the stake out of my hands as he twisted away.

We both stood up and faced each other. I heard a familiar voice say, "catch!" I saw something come towards me and caught it instinctively.

Another stake.

Looked quickly, saw Angel.

"Mate," Spike said, "If you came through Dru to get here your lifespan's going to be measured out in seconds."

"Sorry, no." Then, to me, "Want some help?"

"I've got this," I said.

"You haven't backed those words up yet," Spike said.

"Give me time," I said. Then I told Angel, "Go help Giles." I knew we were there to kill Spike and Drusilla, but this was all part of the plan.

Really. You were there.

[Veronica, noting: Yes, and it was. If the other vamps _ran_, we'd let them go. Killing them was just gravy. If they stuck around and fought, then Buffy was supposed to keep Spike [or Drusilla] busy while Giles and Angel took care of anyone else.]

"I will," he said.

"Need your stake back?"

He smiled slightly. "I think I have this covered."

Then he walked behind me and towards the front of the depot.

Spike said, "Had enough of a break, Slayer?"

"Me? You're the one who called the time out." Angel went over to the other four vamps and simply shoved the first one forward into the sunlight.

"Right. So I did. Time in." And he kicked one of the broken pieces of bench at my legs and tackled me when I jumped to dodge it. I twisted free and kicked him in the kneecap when he tried to jump on top of me again. Then I rolled and quickly stood up, just in time to take a punch to the face.

He didn't let up, shoving me against a column. Since he was limping just a little, I kicked him as hard as I could in the same knee. Find an advantage, take an advantage. Giles – and Merrick, before him – taught me a lot of combat moves, but that's one of the most important: Slaying is about not dying, and one of the best ways to not die is not to treat a fight like it's a boxing match, with rules and stuff. Do whatever it takes to win.

Sure as hell Spike would take advantage of any weakness I showed.

Spike actually yelled, "Ow!" after this second knee-kick, but it was a deliberate ow, like he was trying to make a point.

Could he be faking? I didn't think so. Not that Spike wasn't that smart – well, call it Slayer instinct on my part.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Did I hurt you? Don't worry. It won;t hurt for too much longer."

"Big words," he said. "You _do_ realize I've killed two Slayers." We threw punches at each other that we both easily blocked.

"You know, you've said that. I think you're lying."

"Tell you what. After I make it three, you can tell me if I'm lying or not."

Another punch thrown; this time I dodged, grabbed his arm, and tossed him into the column I'd been backed against, kicking him in the back of the damaged knee and smashing it into the column also. When he turned around I tried to stake him, but he was still a bit too fast; this time I didn't lose the stake, though.

We fought for a few more minutes, not really accomplishing much of anything. I nailed Spike's knee twice more and he was definitely limping when I took a quick look towards the front of the depot, where three –

No, there came a crossbow bolt, right to the heart of the last vampire.

Suddenly the place, which had been so crowded only about ten minutes earlier, had me, and Angel, and Giles – coming through the smashed window –

and Spike.

Angel and Giles came over.

"Gangin' up on me, eh?" he said. "Can't beat me in a fair fight?"

"The object," Giles said, "Is not to win a fair fight; the object is simply to win."

"Right." And Spike made a break for the sewer entrance.

He didn't quite make it. The knee slowed him down. First Giles shot a bolt at him, hitting his leg and knocking him down. Then Angel grabbed him and turned him over. He struggled and kicked, hitting the arm and me in the leg.

He swore. He threatened.

And then he died.

I heard a sound from the back of the depot, but when I went to see what it was, there was no one there.

We searched around for a few minutes – staying together just in case – but didn't find anyone.

And that's when I called you, Veronica. How're thing's going with Aaron Echolls and company?

X X X X X

(Veronica again.)

I didn't bother answering Buffy's question. I was too worried about the obvious thing.

"I notice," I said with dread, "There's one name not in your report."

"And that's why I said almost," Buffy said.

"I knew I didn't like that almost," I said.

I assume you've figured it out by now, but just in case: Spike's dead. Dalton's dead. Twelve nameless, faceless vampire mooks are dead.

So, what name is missing from that list, again?


	88. The Gist

Here's a hint, in case you haven't figured it out: Eight letters. Begins with D.

I'd swear, but I'm not sure there are cuss words powerful enough. This is the part where David Eddings has his characters say they'd waste time inventing new swearwords, but honestly, I don't think I could _invent_ cuss words powerful enough.

So I'll have to settle for a single, "Shit!"

"What is it, Mars?" Logan asked.

I told Buffy, "Please keep looking. Please."

"Wasn't planning to take it easy," Buffy said. "Be careful, Veronica. Drusilla's likely to be targeting you."

"The carefullest I've ever been in my life."

I hung up. Xander and Sheila, hearing me swear, had come over to see what the problem was.

"Logan -"

"Forget it, Mars," he said. "This is my house. I'm not going anywhere."

"Fair enough. Sheila, Xander: Read between the lines."

"Mars -" Logan said.

"Back off," Xander said. "She's going to tell you what's going on."

"The truth, and nothing but," I said. "Once again, the whole truth isn't my secret to give out." When Logan looked like he was about to interrupt, I said, angrily, "_Shut up._ We don't have time for you to be petulant right now. Take it out on me later. If there is a later."

"That bad, manhunter?" Sheila said.

"Yes, and no," I said. "I'll give you the gist. This was a distraction – but from something more important than you'd probably think." Hell, it;s more important than _Buffy_ thinks. "The Slayer and a couple of allies were going after a couple of very powerful vampires named Spike and Drusilla. That was the after-action report, right there, and of the fifteen vampires at the sire, they killed fourteen."

"Which one?" Xander asked. "'cause I'm thinking if it was one of the redshirts you wouldn't be so worried."

"Drusilla," I said.

"Shit," Xander and Sheila said in unison.

"Bad?" Logan said.

"Worse. Trust me. Strong as all vampires and completely insane. I mean, Joker-level lunacy, only even more unpredictable. The Joker's pretty much homicidal by definition. An encounter with Drusilla'll probably leave you dead, but that's not a guarantee." After a pause, "I know, because I've run into her twice."

"How –?" Logan asked.

"She likes me. Why is too long to explain, but she's killed people who were threatening me before." Now wasn't the time for a deep conversation about the metaphysics of magic. Or even a shallow one. "The good news is, we're safe for the moment. It's sunny outside, and she can't come into a residence without an invite." I looked at Logan. "No one here's invited any strange women inside, have they?"

"You forget whose son you're talking to, Mars."

"Right. Damn." At this point, it was unlikely that Aaron would have slept with Drusilla – Aaron wasn't dead, and Drusilla was at this point relatively faithful to Spike – but it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility. Of course, Aaron's handy collection of do-it-yourself porn in his poolhouse would say yea or nay to that, but we didn't have the hundreds of hours necessary to check them over.

Nor, it should be said, the stomach.

Still, if I wasn't here, Drusilla would have no reason to –

No reason. Look who I was talking about. Since when had Drusilla ever needed a reason for anything? One anyone else was capable of understanding, anyway.

This was assuming she knew anything about what was going on, but the way things usually go for me? She knows. Where she was during the fight beats the hell out of me; it wasn't likely that she just stood there and watched Spike be killed – she probably wouldn't have cared about the minions all that much – but otherwise, who the hell knows?

"Manhunter?" Sheila said, snapping me back. "'snot the time to go driftin' off into your own little world. What do we do?"

"Don't suppose you can cast a tracking spell on Drusilla, could you?"

"Sure. Won't do any good, though. Tracking spell I do leads me to someone. 'snot like radar. Don't know where they are at all times."

"And," Xander said, "Call me crazy, but I'm thinking we really don't want to find her right now."

"Not without a platoon of properly trained Marines to back us up," I said.

Logan snorted and pointed to the backyard. I said, "You know what I mean, Logan. This is a woman who can mass murder experienced witches."

Shock registering on his face, Logan said, "That massacre last week – that was _her_?"

"Yes. And she was doing it to protect me."

"What?"

"Yeah," I said. "She 'likes' me, remember?"

"I think I'd rather receive affection from a couple of hammerhead sharks," Logan muttered. "But -"

"Focus, Echolls," Sheila interrupted. "There're more important things right now."

"Yes," I said. "First thing. Are there any sewer entrances inside around here?"

Logan looked ready to open his mouth and ask why, then apparently figured out I wouldn't be asking without a reason. "Not that I know of. Maybe one out by the pool."

"Outside?"

"There's not going to be one in the poolhouse."

That was a relief. Admittedly, my definition of the word relief may differ widely from yours.

"Okay," I said. "Xander? Can you think of anything I've missed?"

"Why are you asking Harris?" Logan asked.

"Because _Harris_," Xander said pleasantly, "Knows more about vampires than she does." Not actually true, of course; I had five and a half more seasons of Buffy and five seasons of Angel to work with. But here? Now? He did, and it would only make sense for me to ask him.

Logan said, "You didn't pay have to pay him, did you?"

"Not a penny," Xander answered.

"Okay. Then, in relative terms, we should be safe now. Keep an eye out for crazy brunettes who dress like they think they're Stevie Nicks." Saying that the word safe there is relative? Wild understatement. Safe compared to having no parachute and jumping out of a plane five miles up, maybe.

Logan nodded. "Okay." Then he shook his head. "Inspirational thought for the day: 'There's no way to get that mushroom cloud back in that nice shiny uranium sphere.' Isaac Asimov." Then he turned and left.

"What was that?" Xander asked.

"Logan wishing he could unlearn things," I said.

"There're forget spells," Sheila said.

"_No_."

"Wouldn't do it without askin'. Just sayin' it's an option, if he wanted to take it." Oh. I still didn't like it all that much, but at least she wasn't thinking of going the nonconsensual route.

"Okay, then," Xander said. "I assume what we do right now is run for the hills? 'cause I'm not too manly to run when it's necessary."

"Why're you assuming she's coming here?" Sheila asked.

Because the Adversary hasn't shown up saying, "Game over." Because that's what the script would demand, if script there were. Because it wouldn't be a thrilling enough ending if Drusilla left town, or attacked Buffy, Angel and Giles in a mad rage, or started gathering up pieces of the Judge on her own.

Because that's the way it _has_ to happen.

I couldn't tell them that, though.

What could I say?

"Not run," I said. "But walk quickly. Drusilla's out of her mind but I have to go with the assumption that she's not going to target random people, but is instead going to go after those who killed Spike. Since she didn't charge out after Buffy and company right then, she either wasn't there or got there too late to do anything." A not unreasonable assumption, even where Drusilla was concerned.

Sheila asked, "'sthat take the load off you?"

"No. We also have to assume she knows everything."

"How could she?" this from Xander.

Just because I was magic-null, and Anakha to boot, didn't mean Drusilla couldn't find out about me by going the long way and picking it up from someone else. "Magic; she could beat it out of someone; she could have seen what happened and overheard; and because it would be a really bad idea to think otherwise."

"Hmm. Yeah, you're right. Better to be paranoid. Fortunately, I live in Sunnydale, so I've gotten really good at that."

"So . . ." This from Sheila.

"So we go outside and finish up our job here, but we do it quickly. Not quickly enough to make anyone suspicious, but quickly enough that we can get out of here and let Rae and the Whitestone people go their separate ways."

"Sure, why give the crazy vamp lady an all-you-can-eat buffet?" Xander asked. "Well, at least a convenient one."

"'skills the plan, though," Sheila said.

Yeah. Unfortunately, it did. Much as it galls me to come this close to force Aaron Echolls into an agonized confession and not being able to pull it off, we really have no choice. We have to scatter and get safe before Drusilla has any chance at all to show up.

"Wait a minute," Xander said. "I still think -"

"No, Xander. Sheila's right. Stick the knife in a couple of times if you can, but getting a confession is less important than staying alive."

"But -"

"I know it pisses you off. You don't think it pisses me off?"

Xander started, stopped, and then said, "Of course it does. Well, maybe we'll get lucky and one of the knife twists we get in'll be the lucky one."

"A boy can dream," I said.

To my surprise, Xander chuckled for a second. "Yeah. I know. We already dealt with that, though."

Right. _Nightmares. _Before my time. I said as much.

"Yeah. Wait, you don't remember having any nightmares come true?"

Actually, no, I didn't. "Nope. Anyway, let's go see how Rae's doing."

We walked out to the back. Aaron Echolls was leaning against the back wall of the house, watching Rae – and for once, for him, not looking at a woman as though she was his next conquest. Action hero slash family men didn't do that, I supposed.

The people from Whitestone were standing, watching her politely; many were in the classic at-ease stance, but they were all paying attention. She must have given them quite a long list of dangerous places, to keep going for so long. Again, though, this is Sunnydale we're talking about. She probably could've held them for another two hours.

Rae looked over at me, and I tapped my watch, hoping she'd understand what I meant.

She appeared to, saying, ". . . reason, it's not nearly as bad during the day. Night's when the trouble starts. And, to tell you something about that, I've got three local teenagers: Veronica Mars, Sheila Kelly, and Alexander Harris." Apparently this wasn't a time to stand on informality. "Miss Mars?"

I went first, then Xander, while Sheila finished things up. We were out in front of them, combined, a total of maybe fifteen minutes. We didn't want to look too terribly like we were rushing out of there, even though that's exactly what we were, in fact, doing.

Why would I care, given that I'm fairly sure there's literally no tomorrow? In this case, primarily to avoid raising suspicions – everyone's suspicions. Didn't want Aaron or the Whitestone people to wonder why they were being given the bum's rush, didn't want Xander and Rae or even Sheila to wonder why I wasn't particularly concerned about tomorrow.

It's a delicate balance and one I've been walking for months now. In a way, it'll be a relief to get off, no matter which way the bet goes – but I'm _not_ going to get off the tightrope until I absolutely have to.

Along the way, we did manage to needle Aaron a few more times – we were rewarded with winces and guilty looks every time, but no tearful admissions of guilt.

If I stay in the timeline, that might be something to build on. As it was, now, well, the best-laid plans of Mars and men aft gang a-gley, and all that.

When Sheila finished, Aaron stepped forward, slightly shaken, but still mostly in control of himself. "Thank you, Ms. Mistwood, Ms. Mars, Ms. Kelly, Mr. Harris. Do any of you from Whitestone have any questions?"

Okay, something else we hadn't planned for: A Q and A session. Lovely.

Fortunately, there weren't a lot of questions. One of them asked if we had any idea why the people in this town seemed so oblivious, and the response was a collective "beats me," which was absolutely true. In the real world, the Sunnydale effect only goes so far. It must have been something, well, magical, but beyond that? Not a clue.

A couple of clarifications and one request for Rae's phone number later (she told the man she was in the book), we were done. Ten minutes later than we wanted to be, but we were done.

Thank all the gods.

The people from Whitestone filed out. That much had gone right: They were properly distracted. As the last of them left through a gate, I breathed a sigh of relief (really, I should know better) and quickly told Rae what was going on.

As I finished, Logan, from the house, said, "Veronica, before you leave, could you come here for a moment?"

"Sure." I walked inside. "What do you need?"

"Apparently I was wrong."

"About . . . "

"Whether there's a sewer entrance inside the house."

Oh, _shit_.

"I don't suppose you're telling me this for purely academic reasons," I said.

"No."

"Won't you come closer, my martian?" Drusilla said, walking from behind a wall.

How did she get inside?

Drusilla continued: "And, no, there's no silly sewer entrance anywhere around here. I am a tree. I provide my own shade. Now, come closer, martian."

"I don't think so," I said, and backed swiftly towards the door.

Drusilla made no move to follow, instead reaching back behind the wall and dragging out Logan's mother. "Now, if you leave the house, I'm afraid I shall be quite cross."

Well, we wouldn't want _that_.

X X X X X

So, how did she get inside? Tune in next week to find out . . .


	89. Frozen

"Okay," I said. "I'm coming closer."

"Come one, come all," Drusilla said. "It's not a party till the last guest arrives."

"I'll invite them in," I said.

She smiled. "Goody. And then we can all have a little chat about what you did today."

I turned and stepped outside. I could run. However Dru got inside, she wasn't ready to immediately chase me and there were a lot of places to get lost in.

Could being a term of practicality, of course. I wouldn't do it. Logan and Lynn would end up dead.

Three of the four people outside could be seen from the inside. So I called them, saying, "Mr. Echolls. Xander. Rae. Could you come inside for a minute?"

When Sheila stepped forward as well, I shook my head slightly and gestured, in front of my body, for her to stay out of line of sight of the door. She nodded and took a couple of steps back.

First Aaron, then Xander, then Rae walked in. Aaron hadn't figured out that anything was going on yes, but Rae and Xander had caught the tenseness in my voice and my subtle shooing away of Sheila as a sign that something was quite wrong.

"Sure, Veronica," Aaron said as he took a couple of steps inside. "What do you – hello. I didn't realize we had company."

Xander said, "That's not the kind of company you want."

"Why? Who is it?"

"Father," Logan said tightly. "This is the woman who killed all of those people a couple of days ago." Aaron's face went through a gamut of emotions: Confusion, anger and disgust. Finally he settled on confused anger.

"That's right!" Drusilla said gleefully. "I am, I am! I killed them all for my martian over there. She's been a very bad martian." I noticed that Lynn's eyes appeared glazed. This would be how she got into the house, then: She hypnotized Lynn into inviting her.

Again, I may seem calm. I'm not. But panic will absolutely not help right now.

Case in point: New action family man Aaron Echolls, who saw Drusilla holding something sharp at his estranged wife's throat, and before anyone could so much as yell "No!" went charging across the room at the vampire

Almost negligently, she backhanded him hard enough to knock him into the room's far wall – a good ten feet away. "Don't do that or I might have to get violent before I want to." Aaron got up and moved back towards where the rest of us were standing.

"How have I been a bad martian?" I asked, hoping (wildly, of course) that she had no idea what had happened at the depot and had been away because she was planning to find me anyway.

"You got my Spike killed."

Well, so much for hope. She seemed almost calm when she spoke. This was more worrying to me, oddly, than if she'd been in a murderous rage. Were she killing angry, it would have been a lot easier, figuring out what to do.

This? This was likely to inspire false hope that maybe we could all get through this alive. It was a false hope I wasn't going to buy, but everyone else in the room but Xander and maybe Rae might.

"Huh?" Aaron said. "What's she talking about?"

"Mr. Echolls," Xander said. "Now's the time for you to be quiet. If there's a later, we'll answer your questions then."

"If?"

"If," Xander said.

"I've been right here for the last hour and a half or so. Ask any of these people." Worth a shot, and the longer I could keep her talking, the more likely Sheila would be able to –

Well, to do _something_. I hoped by now Sheila was smart enough and cautious enough not to simply risk a frontal attack unless she absolutely had to. I wasn't expecting her to run.

"Silly martian," Drusilla said. "Of course you didn't do it yourself. Everyone knows martians aren't violent. They're all peaceful like an ice cream truck in winter. No, you had that nasty Slayer and my Angel do it for you. You're clever, like that, but I don't know why you'd want to kill my Spike. And after everything I did for you, too, all those people I killed. This is very, very rude of you, you know."

"How did you get in here?"

She pointed behind her. "May I look?"

"As long as you still have eyes, you may look," was the unsettling response. "But no running. I am not a coyote and you are not a roadrunner."

The Roadrunner always got away, but I wasn't about to go correcting her metaphor. Instead, I took a couple of steps forward and to the left –

She makes her own shade. Of course. A jumbo-sized parasol.

Stepping back, I said, "Thank you."

"Of course I didn't have to run all the way in the air. The tunnels were lovely, dark, and fun, and I had miles to go before the sun."

"Are you following this?" Aaron asked Xander.

"All I've heard, this is pretty clear, for her," Xander said.

"Why, thank you," Drusilla said, to Xander.

"Um – you're welcome?"

"See, martian? He's polite. He's a nice boy. I think I'll kill him last of all."

"You touch my mother -" Logan said.

"Your mother?" Drusilla said. "Why would I hurt her?"

"You have your fingernail at her throat." Her fingernails looked sharp enough to slice through bank vaults.

"Oh, silly, that's just to make sure no one tries any running or fighting or anything. After you're all nice and dead I promise I'll let her go. She's innocent like a lamb. A little baaing lamb, so cute and sweet and I'm not at all in the mood for lamb chops."

While everyone else dealt with the "nice and dead" part – and don't think I'm blasé about it – I said, "Why do you think it was me, Drusilla?"

She laughed, "Because I have ears. They're not long like a bunny's or fan-shaped like an elephant's but they're perfectly good enough to hear that nasty Slayer talk all about how she killed my Spike, and then she said I might come after you and I was thinking 'why would I want to hurt the martian,' but of course, I'd only want to hurt the martian if she'd had something to do with it. And she'd already said you were here so I came here to give you the punishment you deserve."

Surprisingly logical for Drusilla, though I might wish her burst of reasoning had come at another time. Buffy had asked me how things were going here at casa Echolls. I wouldn't have expected Drusilla to know where that was, necessarily, but fate probably dropped a phone book directly in her path.

And it was probably open to the right page.

"Okay," I said. "Give _me_ the punishment I deserve."

"Veronica, no," Rae said.

I had no illusions that Drusilla would make any bargains, but I had to try. To delay, as long as possible, what was going to happen.

To give Sheila as much of a chance as possible.

"Oh, no," Drusilla said. "I couldn't do that, martian. Killing you wouldn't be punishment enough. You need lots and lots of discipline. Like a naughty schoolgirl. You need to watch."

Rae gasped slightly, while Xander and Logan's faces turned grim. Aaron said nothing.

"I thought you were afraid of what was behind me."

"Oh, I still am afraid," Drusilla said. "But fear is something to be overcome, not something to run away from, and I am not a gazelle or any kind of prey. I am the top of the food chain, after all, and nowhere near the bottom, and the top of the food chain should not be afraid."

Translation: Her fear of what's behind me is less important than her being pissed at me because I arranged for Spike's death.

Damn.

"If you think we're going to stand here and let you kill us, you've got another think coming," Aaron said. Oh. I see. He wasn't being stoic, it just took him this long to figure it out.

"You know, you're really quite unpleasant," Drusilla said.

"And imagine, father. She's only known you for ten minutes," Logan said. Well, if he could snark, the situation wasn't entirely hopeless.

"Yes," Drusilla said. "Your father is quite a bad man. He cheats and he steals and he kills, and he's very, very not nice to women. He's definitely going to die first and his death is going to be most fun. There'll be screaming and yelling and all that lovely, lovely blood."

"He – _kills_?"

Drusilla laughed, only this time her laugh wasn't nearly as pleasant. "Oh, not nearly as many people as I have, but after all killing one person and killing hundreds, it's all the same, really, when it comes down to it."

"Who did you kill?" Logan asked.

"What, you're going to believe the crazy woman who's trying to kill us all?"

"Drusilla," I said, "May I ask you for one favor before you start killing everyone?"

"You may ask, martian."

"Let me finish something. I promise you it has nothing to do with you." Nothing directly, anyway, though it was still part of the big stall.

"Because you asked nicely, you may. But I still haven't forgiven you and neither will Miss Manners and you are still going to die screaming ever so delightfully."

Well, it was good to have something to look forward to. "Thank you," I said. "Logan. You want to know who he killed?"

Aaron's head whipped around so far and so fast you''d have thought he was the girl from _The Exorcist_.

"_Now,_ Veronica?"

"Now, Xander." I took a deep breath. "He killed Lilly."

"What?" This from Lynn Lester/Echolls, apparently coming out of her trance. "What's -"

"Shhh," Drusilla said, staring into her eyes. "Stay very still and I will let you listen."

Logan looked around the room like he didn't know who to focus on. Eventually he settled on me. "How the hell do you know this?"

"I've seen the tape."

"What tape?" Logan asked.

Xander said, "The tape Lilly saved. The tape your father killed her for. The tape of them having sex. _That_ tape, Logan."

Angrily, Logan said, "Lilly wouldn't -"

"Lilly did," I said. "I love Lilly. But she did and she would." Drusilla was watching in fascination. Lynn was watching in abject horror. Rae was watching out of the corner of her eye as she slowly backed towards the rear door of the house.

Smart woman. If she could make it, more power to her. I certainly wasn't going to rat her out.

"Case in point, me," Xander said.

"Huh?"

"She was dating me, too. Right around the same time."

"And your father there -" Aaron still hadn't said a word – "Would sleep with anything that moved," I said. "Anything of the opposite gender. I think I'm the only woman in town he _didn't_ hit on."

"Dad?" I think this is the first time I heard Logan call his father dad. "Tell me they're wrong."

And Aaron took a deep breath and said, "I can't, son. I wish I could, but I can't. I should have figured that you all knew about it, earlier, when you were rehearsing. I just couldn't bring myself to say it. I wish – I wish I had. I wish I hadn't. You know what I mean." I did, and he actually sounded remorseful. Due to the wish, of course. I wasn't giving him any leeway or credit.

And I didn't need to.

"Lilly took the tape. Where you shot it, I have no idea, but she took it and hid it, and you demanded it back, and she wouldn't give it to you." I did not phrase it as a question.

"No. She wouldn't. I have no idea what I was thinking at the time."

"But you took a stone from the Kane's rock garden, and you killed her." Once again, not a question.

He didn't get to respond, anyway. Logan said, "You son of a bitch!"

"Hear, hear," Xander said. "Not strong enough, though. You can do better." Xander was enjoying this. I could hardly blame him. I also noticed that he wasn't completely taking his eye off of Drusilla, either. Good.

Rae was almost at the back door, by this point.

"You want to see me do better, Harris? I'll show you better." Then he hit his father in the face as hard as he could, knocking him down.

Lynn gasped. Drusilla giggled. Xander smiled. I said nothing.

"Get up, Father dearest," Logan said.

Aaron didn't move. All he said was, "I deserved that, son."

"And more." Then, before Aaron could stand up, Logan kicked him in the side once and then a second time.

Rae quietly slipped out the back.

Before he could do it a third time, Drusilla said, loudly, "Now, that's quite enough!"

"I'm going to kill him," Logan said.

"And spoil my fun? I think not." She looked almost thoughtful for a second. "Though I believe you would make a very good vampire. How do you feel about eternal life?"

Logan? He'd make a horrible vampire.

"I'm against it," Logan said earnestly. "It sounds boring."

"Oh, but it isn't," Drusilla said. "It's fun, and you get to kill people and not care at all about it, and then there's all that delicious blood we get to drink. No, that quite settles it. I shall turn you, just as soon as I'm done killing the martian and everyone else for what they did to my Spike."

"No," Logan said. "It would never work. I'm much too big a fan of surfing. I'm also not interested in being your rebound guy."

"You wouldn't be. My guy is dead and he shouldn't be, he really shouldn't be, and it's all the martian's fault." She looked at me. I felt no fear about staring back. "Why?" She sounded betrayed. "I was going to be your Sephrenia and you were going to be my Sparhawk. I was going to guide you and you were going to be a champion. But you were never my Sparhawk. No, you were only Martel, and you killed my Vanion." After a second, she said, "And now it's time for someone to be punished. Come here, young man, and eternal life will be yours."

She gestured towards Logan, who didn't move. "I said I wasn't interested."

"Come here or -" she pressed her fingernail against Lynn's throat.

Logan hesitated, took a half step forward, stopped, and opened his mouth.

That was apparently the sign to the universe for all hell to break loose.

The front door came flying into the house as though a rhinoceros had hit it. Everyone turned to look, including Drusilla.

No one was standing there.

_Find the Target. Distance Strike_.

Sheila'd figured out how to combine them.

Aaron Echolls stepped forward quickly, yanked Lynn out of Drusilla's grasp, and shoved her towards the back door. "Run," he said.

"But –"

I said, "He's right. RUN!" and went to draw my holy water pistol.

Logan grabbed his mother's arm and fled towards the back door.

Drusilla recovered from the shock of seeing no one knock down the front door, spun around, and dove at inhuman speed past me towards Logan, smacking the pistol out of my hand as she went. Xander tried to get in her way and was knocked down.

She caught Logan at the cusp of the back door, right as he shoved Lynn through it.

"Naughty boy!" She threw him back into the house – and I mean literally threw. He sailed through the air and landed maybe fifteen feet away.

"Logan!" Lynn yelled.

"Keep going!" I said. She stopped, but at least she didn't come any closer to the house.

Xander, who along with me had been looking for something sharp and wooden, once again dove at Drusilla, and this time actually connected with a punch before she shoved him into a table. Me, she passed by – though she kicked the pistol into the living room as she went – heading right for Logan, who was trying to scramble to his feet.

Aaron, this time, wasn't going to be brushed off so easily. Blindsiding Drusilla with a tackle, he actually knocked her off of her feet, where he began hitting her.

Then Sheila came running down the stairs.

_Spider Climb_.

And probably another _Find the Target_ when she broke one of the upstairs windows.

"Here comes the sun!" I yelled.

Xander and Logan, both now on their feet, looked at me in confusion for a second. Sheila shook her head no.

_No?_

Shit! It probably needed materials she didn't have on her today.

In the meantime, Xander turned to Logan and said, "We need a stake."

While Aaron struggled with Drusilla – who now had her game face on and was clawing away at him – Logan ran to the living room and smashed an end table against the floor, Hurriedly, he and Xander each took a jagged piece of wood.

Me? There were only the two ersatz stakes, so I scrambled to retrieve the pistol.

Sheila wasn't standing around doing nothing. Just because she couldn't cast the sunlight spell didn't mean she couldn't cast _any_ spell.

Suddenly, the area around Drusilla was enveloped in darkness.

_Darkness_.

Darkness?

I looked at Sheila, who made a shoving motion and then pointed towards the back door.

Okay, I got it. I think.

Xander and Logan stopped, confused. I repeated Sheila's gestures and they nodded their head. I hoped it was because they got it, not because it was an automatic reflex.

The area of darkness shifted, slightly, and stood up. Aaron Echolls lay there on the floor, bleeding from his throat.

"Lovely darkness," Drusilla said. "Thanks ever so much to whoever did this."

"'re welcome," Sheila said, sarcastically.

"Oh, I know you weren't trying to be nice but you were nice and in the end it's the results that matter. Like there, with that horrid man who tried to kill me. But I showed him who the real killer is, didn't I?"

"I suppose you did," I said.

"Ah, martian, there you are," Drusilla said.

"Here I is," I said.

"Thank you for speaking," she said.

And then I was enveloped in darkness, as she beelined towards me. I shot the pistol towards her as she came; she yelped but didn't stop.

I felt my wrist being bent back and heard the pistol drop to the floor. "Bad martian!" she said. "The first thing you did was attack my Spike with that thing! I loathe that nasty gun, I do! And now it will be the last thing you do."

I took a step backwards in the general direction of the door.

"This is not a jailbreak!" she said, grabbing my wrist. I made it one more step backwards before she was able to stop me.

"A little help here!" I yelled, before Drusilla's hands made their way up my body to my neck.

"And those are your last words. You really should have thought more about what to say," she said.

Right then, I felt a couple of pairs of hands and then a good hard shove.

When I felt them again, though, Drusilla let go of my neck, after which I heard yowls of pain.

"Son of a bitch!" Logan said, while Xander muttered similar cuss words.

"Wait your turns," Drusilla said firmly.

No one touched us then, but suddenly we were pushed, hard.

_Distance Strike_.

I landed on patio bricks, not hardwood floor.

"We hurt together," Drusilla said.

"Not for long," I said. "_Let There Be Light!_"

And there was light -

Not from a spell; _from the Sun._

I grabbed her as she yelled, starting to burn. I wasn't going to be able to hold her for more than a couple of seconds –

But it was a good couple of seconds.

Bereft of parasol, with nothing to shade her from the sunlight, she just couldn't pull free and get up and inside fast enough.

She was dust, two steps from the back door, which someone had pulled shut anyway.

It was over. I breathed a big sigh of relief and then stepped into the house.

No one was moving.

Not dead.

_Frozen_.

Then a voice said the words I'd been waiting to hear for three months:

"Game over."

X X X X X

Author's Note: The title of the next chapter is "The Bet."


	90. The Bet

No, it wasn't the guy from _Aliens_. That would have just been surreal.

(Right, like my life to this point has been entirely sane and rational. That, though? Would've been less Joss Whedon writing the plot, and more Drusilla. And I've had entirely enough of Drusilla, thank you.)

I turned around. The Adversary was standing behind me, between me and the infamous-in-two-universes Echolls poolhouse.

"Last out?" I asked.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you came from behind to win."

"Well? How'd I do, Mr. Umpire?" Brazen to the end, that was me. My mouthiness has been called one of my less endearing qualities. It's also the one that's most likely to get me killed. Well, that and my tendency to walk into places crawling with bad guys armed only _with_ said mouthiness and a taser. For further details, please contact the Fitzpatricks.

At least I managed to keep that mostly under wraps, here in the Buffyverse. Couldn't keep it completely under control without hiding under the covers for three months – which would have ticked off Snyder, Dad, and the Adversary, in increasing order of importance, and lost me the bet, besides.

"So quickly?"

"I'm from the rip off the bandage school. 'twere done, 'twere best done quickly."

He smiled. "Yes. But this is my school."

"I assume that translates to pulling the bandage off slowly."

"I have no intention of tormenting you, Miss Mars; but, to use your school metaphor, I believe we could use a refresher course."

"You're omniscient, or close enough that it makes no difference. So I'm guessing this? For my benefit."

"You are correct."

"And if I protested that I didn't need to be refreshed?"

Another smile. "I would ignore you."

"Of course. Now, come with me."

"To zee Casbah?" Look at the mouth on that one.

"I am neither Charles Boyer nor Pepe le Pew. Our destination is the poolhouse."

I followed him. "You have the whole thing on video."

"Simply a convenient method of display," he said. "Nothing more. I could show it to you on Blu-Ray or on kinetoscope – or holodeck, for that matter."

We walked inside. "Could you remove the bed, at least?" I asked.

The Adversary didn't bother with dramatic gestures; I blinked, and the bed was now a sofa. "Good enough?"

"Got anything in leather?"

"Sit down, Miss Mars." Sensing a modicum of exasperation in the tone, I sat.

From somewhere he produced a remote, and clicked on the television.

I saw me, Mac, and Wallace watching "Villains" and having an argument.

"I'm not going to have to watch this in real time, am I?" I asked.

"You have nothing but time, Miss Mars."

So, how did this all start?

Trust me. I remember it well.

_Earlier, in another universe . . ._

"Willow wasn't an addict," I said.

"That's what Buffy thought. That's what _she_ thought. That's what the entire creative staff thought," Mac said. "What makes you smarter than them?"

Cindy MacKenzie in a heated argument that had nothing to do with computers? Yup. Cindy and I had a shared love of _Buffy_ and _Angel_ – one that we were trying to get young Mr. Wallace Fennel interested in as well. Wallace was amused and entertained, but fanatic? Not so much.

Ah well. At least it gave Mac and I someone to bounce our ideas off of who'd be willing to tell us we'd gone berserk. Well, semi-willing. I'd promised him repeatedly not to take any revenge, but for some reason, he didn't seem to believe me.

Smart man. I'd taught him well.

It was early summer post-graduation, two-three weeks past – past, well, everything. Past me giving up any chance at the Kane scholarship by going to watch Aaron Echolls be convicted – only to be blindsided when he wasn't; past figuring out that Cassidy "Beaver" Casablancas had been both my rapist and the one who'd blown up the bust back in the fall; past his murder of "Mayor" Woody Goodman, his attempted murder of me and my father, and his suicide by jumping off the roof of the Neptune Grand; past someone, and if you give me their name I'll give them a fucking medal, killing Aaron during his post-trial celebration; past Dad leaving me at the airport for a reason he still wasn't saying.

Past Mac finding out her boyfriend, the aforementioned Cassidy Casablancas, was that murderer. Neither she nor I was completely over the events of that day; how could we be?

But life, unfortunately, kept on going. Sheriff Lamb had "questioned" me about the circumstances of Aaron Echolls' death, and Cassidy Casablancas', for that matter; he'd also questioned Mac, but a lot more gently. Dad had more cases; the town had to elect a new "Mayor," though the revelation that Woody Goodman was a child molester killed off the use of that inaccurate title for good.

The good part, or at least, the not so bad part, was that the summer between high school and college was the freest possible time of our lives. Dad was willing to give me time to recuperate – this was the second early summer in a row I'd had like this. Buffy and her friends weren't the only ones whose "apocalypses" tended to occur in May. Working for one's father has its benefits. As for Mac's family, she and they might be leagues apart in worldview and philosophy but they loved one another fiercely, so she wasn't getting any pressure either.

As for Wallace, he had problems of his own – it was also a couple of weeks past Jackie breaking up with him, so he was kind of depressed. Dude had game; he'd find himself another woman when he wanted to, but now, he wasn't really up to "want to." So while binge-watching every episode of Buffy might not have been at the absolute top of his to-do list, spending time with a couple of friends who weren't going to ask him every five seconds how he was doing. (I was perfectly capable of deducing it, and Mac – well, Mac generally figured that if you wanted her to know, she'd tell you, and if you didn't want her to know, she'd hack your computer and figure it out anyway.)

So. A week and a half of Mac and me doing pretty much nothing more than watching seasons two through six of Buffy, bouncing back and forth between stately Mars Apartment and _casa _Mackenzie, with Wallace joining in a little over half the time, and she and I were arguing more or less nonstop – friendly arguing, because we both still loved the show, but arguing nonetheless.

Mac essentially was one of those who thinks the show severely jumped the shark when Oz and Willow broke up – disliked Tara, _loathed_ Kennedy. I didn't particularly like Kennedy either, but I loved the Willow/Tara relationship. (Not enough to write fanfiction about it, as Mac does for Oz/Willow.)

So by the time we got to the later seasons Mac was gleefully pointing out how far things had fallen – particularly with season 6 and the "Willow, addict" storyline.

From there we got into the entire series. "Hell," I said, "You probably still think Jenny Calendar should have been called Nikki."

"At least I don't write off the comics."

"_Fray is not canonical," _I said. "Wallace? What do you think?"

Wallace held up his hands in an "I'm-not-getting-into-this" gesture."I'm thinking I want to get out of here without being killed. Besides, I don't know what _Fray_ is anyway."

Right. Good point.

"Hey, Joss Whedon created them, that's good enough for me," Mac said.

"Not me," I said. "Don't get me wrong – it's one of my all-time favorites – but even Joss didn't know everything."

"The guy who _created the show_ doesn't everything?" Mac said.

"Not everything," I said.

"You think you could've run it better?"

"Knowing what I know now? Damn right I could," I said. "I bet I could. Stick me in at any point and I'd have things better like that." I snapped my fingers.

Suddenly I felt – something – off to my right. Backup came running out of the bedroom, barking furiously, then stopped. Wallace stopped at the same time. Scared? No, frozen. When I turned to look at Mac, she wasn't moving either.

What the hell was going on?

"I will take that bet," a voice said. I spun to look at it, then stood up.

Someone – and apart from appearing male I really can't get more descriptive – was standing in the kitchen. "What -" I began, then stopped.

This couldn't be happening. Things like this only happened on TV, not in the real world. I lived in the real world, therefore I was either dreaming, or someone had laced tonight's pizza with a _strong_ hallucinogen.

"You're not dreaming, and you're not drugged."

Okay, that was spooky. "Prove it," I said.

"How?" he asked. "Any evidence I would give, you would take as proof that you were dreaming. Because things I am able to do, are not possible here in 'the real world,' only in the real of fiction. I suppose you could try pinching yourself. I have heard that that works."

Point to the spook. I pinched myself, hard, on both arms, and all I got was a couple of red marks. "Well, crap" I said. "I guess you're real. Which leads me to my next question."

"Always a detective, Miss Mars. Ask."

"Who _are_ you?" No point in panicking. If this was real, he was clearly capable of doing whatever the hell he wanted, and if this actually was a dream, I'd wake up eventually.

"I am the Adversary."

"Whose adversary?" If he was mine, I was dead.

"Everyone's. It is – my function. It is who I am. It is what I have been doing as long as there have been sentient beings in this, or any other, universe. The Adversary is my oldest title on this world. I am the tester."

Wait. I'd read something once – "Job?"

"Job was fiction. I am real." After a second, he added, "But that does refer to me. I prefer not to use that name, because it has entirely different implications. I am not the manifestation of all that is evil in the world."

That name, then, would be Satan.

"Job would have probably begged to differ."

"In the end, in that story, Job was rewarded for his hardships. Even though he did not live up to his end of the deal. That is how you know it was fiction."

"Okay, then . . ." I said. "You're obviously here to test me. How and why?"

"In reverse order," the Adversary said, "Why? You're worthy, and you made an interesting wager. Most are not, and most do not. It is a signal honor."

"And not one I can decline, I'm guessing."

"Certainly you can decline. But the penalties for backing out are severe."

I didn't think he meant severe tire damage. "Backing out of what? Backing out applies agreement?"

He smiled. "But you did agree, Miss Mars. You agreed the moment you made the bet."

I blinked. "Hold on. You're saying that any time anyone ever uses the words 'I bet,' they're making an agreement with you to – what? Put their lives on the line?"

"Not necessarily their lives, but yes." When I opened my mouth to protest, he said, "Come, Miss Mars. You watch _Buffy_. You know the danger in a single misspoken word."

The word in question was "wish," of course.

"In any event, you asked me two questions. I have explained why. Now I will explain how. Your wager was, and I quote, 'I bet I could. Stick me in at any point and I'd have things better like that.' Those will be the conditions. You will be put in the universe of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ – the television series, not the movie – and you will be given a limited amount of time to improve things."

Okay. This may seem like an odd place to reach the limits of one's credulity, but this was it. "The Buffyverse is fictional." This seemed to me like an insurmountable argument.

And hoo boy, was I wrong. "So are you, Miss Mars. So am I. So are we all. In the infinity of the multiverse, the Buffyverse, and several variants thereof, do exist."

"So every universe possible -"

The Adversary sighed. "I said infinite, not exhaustive."

Huh. And here I thought "infinite" was the greatest possible. Guess I was incorrect there as well. That seemed to be happening a lot recently.

"Okay, how limited?"

"Oh, you will have months, at least, if not years," he said. "I am endeavoring to be fair."

Odd definition of fair he had.

"Now," he continued, "Here are the terms. You will placed in a nearly random time period in the show's continuity. By nearly random, I mean that placing you in the last half of season seven would be pointless. You will be treated by everyone as though you belonged there, and will be of the appropriate age. To that end, a number of people you are familiar with will be placed there, as well."

"My father?"

"Among others. From the moment you arrive, you must attempt to change the timeline for the better, using only your knowledge of that future. You may not tell anyone how this came about, or about their futures, nor that you and your 'supporting cast' were inserted to the universe."

"Wait," I said. "How am I supposed to fix things if I'm not allowed to tell anyone?"

Another smile. "That is your concern," he said. "I would not, however, make the wager were it impossible to win. I always play fair."

"Can I curse God?"

"As often as you like."

"Good." Because I suspected I'd be doing a lot of that. Not that I was particularly inclined to believe in Him, anyway. "And what happens here when I'm gone? Mac and Wallace are going to get a bit suspicious when you unfreeze them and I've suddenly vanished."

"You need not worry about that. They will never notice your absence."

Okay. Might as well get one other thing out of the way. "What are the stakes?"

"Should you win? I will grant you one request. Any request you like, provided it is within my ability to grant." Which left out damned little, of course. I knew what request I'd make.

"And now for the stick. What happens if I lose?"

"Should the judgment go against you, you will be returned to your home universe, except that the attack on the elder Mr. Echolls that recently cost him his life will have failed. They will track down the person responsible, who is someone you care about, and he will go to jail and permanently lose custody of his child. This will galvanize public opinion in Mr. Echolls' favor, and for the remainder of your life you will be believed to be a woman who maliciously tried to prosecute an actor for the fame and fortune it would bring. This will stunt your future prospects of employment in any law enforcement related field, and affect your father's future as well. Further, the universe you have altered will remain changed for the worse."

At the look of horror on my face, the Adversary said, "Come, Miss Mars. It would not be a true wager if lives other than your own were not at stake."

And we couldn't have that, could we? "I have no way of getting out of this?"

"Win. Lose. Or die. But upon your death, judging will begin immediately. But if you die specifically to begin judgment, you will be violating the terms of the wager."

In other words, no improving one thing and throwing myself in front of a bus.

"Okay. Let me get a good night's sleep -"

"No, Miss Mars. The wager begins now."

And, between blinks, I found myself lying in bed, in a room that was familiar but unfamiliar. My "new" bedroom.

I spent the entire weekend considerably off my game and off my feed, trying to process two sets of memories that conflicted much more than they agreed, and finally figured out where the Adversary had dropped me in on Monday, when I saw Ms. Calendar, and then went to investigate that knocked-down Welcome to Sunnydale sign, proving that I'd entered the Buffyverse right around the time of _School Hard_.

And, that, of course, is where you came in.

X X X X X

The screen went dark.

"Okay," I said. "Now that I'm well and truly refreshed, what happens next?"

"Judgment, of course."

I blew out a breath between pursed lips. "I'm ready." I was more than ready. I'd done the best I could. I'd made mistakes, but on balance? I think the scale would come down in my favor.

Of course, it wasn't up to me. Who knows what standards the Adversary would have?

What _would_ Satan do?

"Then let us begin," he said.

Apparently I was about to find out.

X X X XX

Okay, folks, a favor: Give me your reasoning as to who should win the bet. Be as long or as short as you want. I have my own arguments, but I'd like to know if there are any I might have missed.

Thank you in advance.


	91. Ain't Heard Nothing Yet

This one took a little bit longer than I anticipated. I was about three quarters of the way through the chapter when I decided to scrap ninety percent of it and start over. I just wasn't happy with the way it was going.

This is what I came up with instead. I hope it was worth the wait.

X X X X X

"So what's the procedure?" I asked. We were still seated next to each other, in the Echolls' poolhouse, on the sofa the Adversary had created.

"In keeping with the theme," the Adversary said, "Of you attempting to change a television show, I thought we would do it in the format of an episode guide. We will examine every episode from _Bad Eggs_ onward and I will point out the changes you have wrought, for good, neutral and ill. I will not count any changes not instigated by you, directly or indirectly. For instance, Logan Echolls' presence caused a woman not to die from a vampire attack – he collided with her on a street corner and the vampire gave up hunting before she turned down his alley. That was not part of the wager."

"Significant?" 

"Yes. Insignificant changes are those which could, in essence, fold back into the original universe. 'For want of a nail' works at times, but far more often does not. A new timeline is not permanently created by every choice – only every important choice. A decision of what color shoes to wear rarely has lasting ramifications, and those universes become one when the shoes are removed at the end of the day."

I thought I understood.

"I will also not be counting any changes instigated by your mere presence in events essentially unrelated to the timeline. Fortunately, as with those caused by those who accompanied you, those changes are minor. Not necessarily insignificant, but combined they would not be enough to tilt the balance for or against you."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "You said you are judge and jury, and executioner, if necessary, though obviously I don't want it to come to that."

"The stakes remain the stakes, Miss Mars. I will not be your 'executioner' regardless."

"So I'm going to get opportunities to disagree with you."

The Adversary said, "Correct. I am not – quite – infallible. My final judgments are just that, though: Final." After a second, he said, "The first thing we need to do is define what was meant by the word 'better' in the terms of the bet."

"I would've have thought that was obvious."

He smiled. "And you would have been wrong. Better, for example, could very easily refer to making it a more interesting story. More action, more excitement, more plot twists."

If that was the definition he was going to use, I might as well give up now. I'd never been trying to make it a better story; I'd been trying to make it better for the inhabitants. I

I said, "Well, if that's the way this is going to go, you might as well pronounce me a failure and send me on to my punishment. Not only did I not make their 'story' more entertaining, I deliberately tried to do the opposite. Not that it still wasn't chock full of action and adventure despite my best efforts." I paused, then added, "Hell, if I'd believed that was the standard going in, I would have concede defeat immediately. No way I was I going to screw these people over just to win the bet. I've been called Machiavellian, but I have my limits."

"Miss MacKenzie said, and I quote, 'You think you could run it better?' and you answered with, 'Knowing what I know now? Damn right I could.' "

"Yes, but that wasn't in the terms of the wager, either. Since we never specified what constitutes 'better,' I think my definition is as good as any other."

"And that definition is?"

"That I would make the lives of the inhabitants better. That I would spare them pain and suffering. Even prevent an apocalypse or two, if possible."

He nodded his head. "Then we will use your definition. Well argued, Miss Mars."

"Thank you."

"You said the episode guide will see how the future will play out after my interference, correct?"

"Correct," the Adversary said.

"With or without my presence?"

"With your presence, but also with the presumption that you longer change the future using your knowledge of it," he said. "Shall we begin?"

"Do I have a choice?"

One more smile. "No."

**Prior to _Bad Eggs_:**

Aaron Echolls' death, of course, makes national headlines – his death at the hands of this mysterious woman who was menacing you makes it even more bizarre. Though Sheriff Lamb presses everyone for 'the truth,' eventually he is forced to settle for the story you all tell. Your father, naturally, is furious with you, but eventually, grateful that you are still alive, forgives you. Later, he writes a book detailing his theory that Aaron Echolls killed Lilly Kane – and he is helped in this by Lynn and Logan Echolls, who back her theory.

Mayor Wilkins is uncomfortable at the publicity, but plays along. He is grateful to have Spike and Drusilla dead, but wonders whether you and your father may be forces to be reckoned with.

Whitestone leaves town.

You, Miss Mars, give Mr. Giles his money back and apologize for not being able to locate Epimetheus.

_**Bad Eggs**_**:**

There are no significant changes to _Bad Eggs_. You avoid being taken because in this new reality you are Mr. Harris' partner for the child-rearing experiment, but otherwise things proceed as they did in the original series.

_**Surprise/Innocence:**_

Now here, Miss Mars, is where things start to swerve. With Spike and Drusilla gone, Lyle Gorch – who did not leave town at the end of _Bad Eggs_ – is now attempting to fill the void left with their deaths. One of their minions who was not present during the raid on their headquarters informs him of their abortive attempt to assemble The Judge; Gorch believes this an excellent idea, though, without a scholar around, he will have far more difficulty obtaining the remainder of the limbs. His attempts do not come to anyone's attention during this episode, although his presence in Sunnydale is noted when Buffy kills a vampire.

Her birthday celebration goes smoothly. Angel and Miss Summers, having been informed of the curse and the conditions under which it can be lifted, refrain from sleeping together. Ms. Rosenberg does not discover that MS. Chase and Mr. Harris are, in the lingo, "an item." She and Mr. Osbourne begin dating.

You and Miss Kelly have little to do with this episode, though you are invited to the birthday party.

_**Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered**_**:**

With Miss Madison being deceased, the love spell so crucial to this episode's happy denouement does not occur. Miss Chase breaks up with Mr. Harris, and Mr. Harris attempts to get first Miss Rosenberg and then Miss Kelly to cast the "revenge" love spell. They decline, in Miss Rosenberg's case because she lacks the skill – and because she's furious with Mr. Harris for not confiding in her in the first place that he and Miss Chase were in fact dating -and in Miss Kelly's case because "she's not fuckin' with anyone's mind." At the end of what would have been the episode, Mr. Harris and Miss Chase are still separated.

_**Passion:**_

Does not occur. Miss Summers and Mr. Giles are made aware of Lyle Gorch's plans to reassemble the judge during the time frame of what this episode would have been.

_**Killed by Death**_**:**

Miss Summers does not collapse from her illness this time and the doctor she goes to prescribes antibiotics and rest, not a trip to the hospital. Thus, Der Kindestod is not killed during the episode and in fact remains at large for several months more, during which he kills several more children, before Miss Summers is finally made aware of the situation and arranges for his demise.

Mr. Harris and Miss Chase have a huge argument in this episode, concluding with Mr. Harris saying, "We're not going out anymore, remember? You can't talk to me that way anymore!" and Miss Chase responding with, "Well maybe we should, so I can!"

Angel, in the meantime, finds out more about Gorch's plans, discovers when a shipment is coming in. and vows to make certain he and Miss Summers are there to intercept it when it arrives in a couple of weeks.

_**I Only Have Eyes For You**_**:**

Unfolds quite similarly to the episode, except that the words Angel and Miss Summers speak mean less to them, under the circumstances. No significant changes. Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar are now in a full-blown relationship.

_**Go Fish**_**:**

The main plot unfolds similarly, except that with Ms. Calendar and Ms. Mistwood's assistance they are able to reverse the spell on the boys. Ms. Calendar, additionally, tells Principal Snyder no when he "suggests" she change the grade. He fires her, and she promptly files a lawsuit.

_**Becoming (both parts)**_**:**

Does not happen in any form, save for Mr. Giles being informed of the finding of the obelisk containing Acathla. Nothing further happens with Acathla during the timespan of this episode. Specifically: the other Slayer, Kendra, does not make an appearance.

In its place – perhaps those who say that the Buffy universe has a law of conservation of apocalypses are correct. Angel and Ms. Summers attempt to intercept the final "arms shipment" but are driven back by a large mass of vampires. Gorch may not have Spike's intelligence or the poetry of Angelus, but in its place he has sheer brutality. His solution to most problems is to throw as many vampires at them as possible.

Knowing Miss Summers to be an issue, he later sends another attack force to stall her while he assembles the Judge and turns it loose. She and Angel manage to defeat them, though Ms. Rosenberg and Mr. Giles are injured – while the Judge begins its rampage.

While Miss Chase and Mr. Harris get them to a hospital, Miss Kelly, Miss Summers and Angel go after the Judge, and Miss Kelly manages to delay him by trapping him in a collapsing building. You and your father have little to do with the events of the episode; you are assisting Ms. Calendar in her lawsuit.

Then the events of _Innocence _play their way out, except that the final confrontation occurs not at a shopping mall, but in the middle of a street. The Judge is destroyed and Lyle Gorch is killed. The remainder of the vampires scatter, at this, and good has won the day.

_**The Summer between Seasons 2 and 3**_**:**

Miss Summers once again goes to visit her father, but returns early when her father's business needs intervene.

Your own father finishes writing his book, and submits it.

Ms. Calendar's lawsuit against the school is settled and her job is restored to her. This is due largely to pressure provided by Mayor Wilkins, who once again prefers to avoid publicity, if possible. She is given back pay plus damages. Mayor Wilkins is now convinced that you and your father are people to be kept an eye on.

Dozens of people do not die, because Spike and Drusilla are no longer there to kill them.

The Slayer, Kendra, continues her work.

Angel and Buffy have several long conversations about whether their relationship could work, coming to no particular conclusion.

The Slayer Faith is not called, does not kill several other menaces, and does not run afoul of Kakistos and Mr. Trick.

X X X X X

"Well," I said, "So far, so good."

The Adversary smiled. "It would seem so, wouldn't it?"

_**Anne**_

Miss Mars, the woman known as "Lily" – to whom you gave your card – calls you from Los Angeles to help her find her missing boyfriend. You go up there, quickly determine that the cause is more up Miss Summers' alley than yours, and call her in. Miss Summers is, from there, able to take care of the problem in much the same fashion as in the original storyline, though she is unable to provide "Lily" with an apartment or a job. You agree to help her with both of these.

As Miss Summers never left Sunnydale in the anguish of having sent Angel to hell, none of the other events of this story happen.

_**Dead Man's Party**_**:**

Occurs similarly to the original storyline, although there is not a party for the zombie attack to disrupt, merely Miss Summers, Mr. Harris and Ms. Rosenberg watching television. Mr. Osbourne, happening open the zombies marching, calls in the cavalry and the attack is thwarted, the mask destroyed. The attack brings home to Mrs. Summers the reality of the supernatural, and the confrontation that happened immediately prior to the Acathla incident occurs now, instead.

Mrs. Summers is less than mollified but agrees to hold off on any drastic action until she and Mr. Giles have a talk.

_**Faith, Hope and Trick**_**:**

Is drastically modified. Mr. Hope asks Ms. Summers and is rebuffed.

The Slayer Kendra does not come to Sunnydale. Neither does the Slayer Faith. The former was killed while fighting Kakistos, as was her Watcher, and the latter is activated now. Mr. Giles is made aware of this during the timeframe spanned by this episode.

Mrs. Summers comes to the library and has a long talk with Mr. Giles, Ms. Calendar and her daughter. As it turns out, she has had Mr. Giles investigated.

And, of course, the number of private detectives in Sunnydale being what it is -

["Oh, shit," I said.

"Indeed," the Adversary replied.]

So Ms and Mrs. Summers are not the only set consisting of parent and child having a long, involved conversation. Ms. Summers, though, has a reason for remaining in Sunnydale. You do not. Your father has little desire to uproot you during your senior year, but makes it clear to you that you are to stay away from the things that go bump in the night, and that you will be moving from Sunnydale the second after graduation.

_**Beauty and the Beasts**_**:**

One fewer beast to deal with in this changed universe, as Angel, of course, has never gone to Hell. The remainder of the episode proceeds almost as it did in the original, except that, with the assistance of you and Miss Kelly, the student named Debbie is saved, although Mr. Platt is still killed, and Ms. Calendar is menaced but escapes unharmed.

_**Homecoming**_**:**

Is severely altered, as Miss Summers, while annoyed by Miss Chase, declines to run for Homecoming Queen, and with no Mr. Trick in town, there is no Slayerfest. Mr. Harris and Miss Rosenberg do not kiss. Mr. Echolls accompanies you to the dance.

Miss Chase wins, incidentally.

_**Band Candy**_**:**

Does not occur, but something takes its place, something a good deal less elegant. Mayor Wilkins, not knowing Ethan Rayne or having Mr. Trick at his disposal, sends many of his follower vampires to wreak havoc at the same time others invade the hospital to kidnap the children needed for the sacrifice. Miss Chase notices a pattern of where they are not striking – "They're attacking everywhere but around the hospital! I mean, why wouldn't they go there? Wouldn't that be like an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord?"

Suspicions raised, Miss Summers and Angel go to the hospital, learn of the kidnapping, and trail the vampires to the sewers, where the demon Larconis is killed and the children rescued.

All is not well, however. Miss Kelly's mother is killed in the rioting, as are a couple of dozen other people.

_**Revelations**_**: **

Occurs much as before, minus the actual revelations, save for the one that Gwendolyn Post is in fact no longer a Watcher. Her excuse for coming to town is simply that she is on the trail of Lagos and the Glove of Mynhegon.

As Miss Kelly is to turn eighteen in a matter of weeks, the courts are reluctant to take her into foster care, and you convince your father to allow her to stay with you until graduation.

_**Lovers Walk:**_

Does not occur in any form.

_**The Wish**_**:**

Does not occur in any form, save for the demon being killed at the beginning, During the events of what would have been this episode, Ms. Calendar informs everyone that there is no known way to make the curse permanent. Ms. Mistwood and Miss Kelly concur in this.

This prompts a long conversation between Angel and Miss Summers about the future of their relationship. Or, to be precise, the lack of a future for their relationship.

_**Amend**_**s****_:_**

Occurs. Angel is vulnerable at this point, but without being able to taunt him in the form of Ms. Calendar, the First uses the forms of Drusilla and Miss Summers to try to manipulate him into murder or suicide. The First does not succeed but is determined to leave Sunnydale because he no longer trusts himself around Miss Summers. Miss Summers drives away the Bringers.

_**Gingerbread**_**:**

Angel and Miss Summers have a long conversation that ends with Miss Summers being very upset. The following night, the events of the episode begin, and play out similarly. Your father joins the group as well, though, and even though you are not a target, Miss Kelly is – as are Ms. Mistwood, who escapes, and Mr. Pulaski, who does not, and is killed in the store the day before the attempted burning at the stake.

The remainder of the episode is much the same, although Angel also assists in the rescue before bidding Miss Summers goodbye.

Following this, he leaves Sunnydale for Los Angeles.

You and Mr. Echolls are definitively dating by this point.

[So Angel leaves _earlier_?" I asked.

"Yes. But cheer up, Miss Mars: This means the spinoff begins a whole half season sooner."

I was not amused.]

_**Helpless**_**:**

And this, Miss Mars, is where things _truly_ begin to swerve.

Mr. Harris walks in on Mr. Giles and Miss Calendar having a huge argument, though he can't tell what it's about. Both refuse to talk about it.

Then a "surprise visit" from the Slayer Faith and her Watcher occur. Of course, to Mr. Giles, this is no surprise at all, as he contacted the Watcher's Council and arranged for the visit in the interests of keeping things under control in Sunnydale while Miss Summers undergoes the cruciamentum.

Miss Summers and the Slayer Faith interact similarly to their encounter in the original timeline, although Faith is slightly more restrained, neither being on the run nor upset because of her Watcher's death.

This Watcher –

["Why aren't you naming them?" 

"Your rules, Miss Mars. For the same reason I have not used the name 'Lehane' for the Slayer Faith. You do not consider it canonical if it did not appear in the series."

"I didn't appear in the series, either."

"But your name is canonically Veronica Mars, Miss Mars."

"I have a canon?" I asked.

"Of course you do. As do I."

Lovely.]

In any event, because of Mr. Giles' idea, this Watcher will be the one who observes Miss Summers and Mr. Giles, not Quentin Travers.

It appears as though the cruciamentum proceeds similarly to the way it had originally done up to the morning after Miss Summers' father does not take her to the ice show. Mr. Giles then hypnotizes her, but does not inject her with the weakening drug, and brings her out of the trance.

Later, he and Ms. Calendar have a discussion, and that evening, as Miss Summers and her friends research the cause of her weakness, Mr. Giles tells her the truth.

"So that explains all the fighting," Mr. Harris said.

"It does," is Mr. Giles' response.

The other Watcher has overheard this, and informs Mr. Giles . . . that she quite agrees that the cruciamentum is an utterly barbaric ritual and that she would resign sooner than expose Faith to it.

Alas, she will never have the chance.

Mr. Kralik, per canon, escapes, and while Mr. Giles goes to the boarding house and finds a murdered worker, the Slayer Faith, patrolling per her Watcher's orders, runs across Mr. Kralik and his newly turned minion.

She kills the minion.

And is killed in turn by Mr. Kralik.

Working together, everyone is able to kill Mr. Kralik – but the damage has been done.

["Still confident that you've changed things for the better, Miss Mars?"

Well, Faith's dead and Angel left early; but Spike is still dead, Drusilla is still dead, Xander and Cordelia are still together, and Ms. Calendar is still alive."

"Yes," I said.

He smiled. "Well, in the words of the legendary Al Jolson, "You ain't heard nothin' yet.'"]


	92. Resigned

Author's Note: The Episode Guide is running a bit longer than I thought. I will endeavor to summarize more in the next chapter.

X X X X X

["I ain't?" I said.

"No. You ain't." He said "ain't" uncomfortably. It was not a word he took to well.

Once again:

Lovely.

"Where am I in all of this?"

"This is not particularly about you, Miss Mars," The Adversary said.

"It isn't? So this is all for the fun of it?"

"You," he said stiffly, "Are aware of what I mean. Shall we proceed?"

"And if I said no, you'd proceed anyway?"

"Of course."]

_**The Zeppo**_**:**

Occurs with significant alteration. Given that they are significantly short on manpower, Mr. Harris, Ms. Calendar and Miss Kelly are both drafted into the battle against the Sisterhood of Jhe. You and Miss Chase are pointedly not invited. This does not, however, particularly disturb Miss Chase.

Miss Summers, it should be noted, is quite upset throughout all of this. Angel leaving still affects her.

Miss Chase runs across Mr. O'Toole and his compatriots as they're walking down the street, and they forestall their "cake baking" to hit on her. Recognizing three of them, at least, as dead walking, she declines; they try to impress her by saying they're going to blow up the school; she says, "Wow, that _is_ impressive, but I'm not into blowing things up tonight, so, you know what? No thanks," and leaves.

Unable to get Mr. Giles or Miss Summers to pay any attention to her, Miss Chase is forced to her last resort: You and Mr. Echolls. While the "main story" plays out similarly, the three of you trail Mr. O'Toole and his friends to the school. Mr. Echolls is all for jumping them right away, but you, realizing that four jocks on three non-jocks is not particularly good odds, quietly follow them to the basement – dodging occasionally from the running battle everyone else is having with the Sisterhood – and hiding until after the bomb is planted.

Then, with you and Miss Chase scouting the way ahead, Mr. Echolls hurriedly carries the bomb outside, where Mr. O'Toole and his friends are waiting for the explosion.

The zombies realize something is up, but Mr. Echolls throws the bomb at them with a few seconds to go, runs a few feet, and dives to the pavement. You and Miss Chase are already running away as fast as you can.

The explosion destroys them and damages their car. Mr. Echolls is bruised and battered but otherwise uninjured.

Unlike Mr. Harris in the original timeline, you all inform Miss Summers and her friends about Mr. O'Toole and his bomb plot. Mr. Osbourne complains about being hungry.

_**Bad Girls**_**:**

Is quite drastically changed, as you may have surmised, though the results are similar. Miss Summers, still being upset, nearly succumbs to despair while fighting El Eliminati, but pulls herself out of it and manages to swipe the amulet, fleeing before their superior numbers.

["Don't die," I said.

"A wise philosophy, in the main."]

Miss Summers, of course, is not arrested, does not break and enter, and barely passes the chemistry test she walked out on in the original timeline.

The vampire Vincent attacks the Mayor, who, lacking Mr. Trick to rescue him, avoids being killed only by the skin of his teeth, as Mr. Finch manages to rescue him by shoving the vampire out of the window. The Mayor is injured, but survives, and The Mayor's vampiric minions belatedly arrive to protect him from further attack.

Mr Giles, with the amulet, is kidnapped, and Miss Summers leads a team with Mr. Osbourne, Miss Kelly, and Miss Rosenberg on it to rescue him. Mr. Finch is there, and warns them about Balthazar and his abilities, upon orders from the Mayor. Miss Rosenberg recognizes him but says nothing.

The rescue is successful, although Miss Summers once again has a brief crisis of faith – no pun intended – before shaking it off and killing Balthazar.

_**Consequences**_**:**

There are none.

During what would have been this episode, Miss Summers talks over her devastation that Angel left town. Mr. Harris insults the vampire, you console awkwardly, but it is Miss Chase who manages to get her to face up to the fact that he will not be returning, and that it is probably for the best.

Miss Rosenberg has a conversation with Mr. Giles, after which Mr. Giles has a discussion with Angel by phone.

**Doppelgangland:**

Does not happen in any form.

_**Enemies**_**:**

Happens, albeit altered. As Angel is helping the helpless in Los Angeles, he is approached by a group of vampires who say that their boss has an intriguing offer for him. He takes the phone they hand him and tells Mayor Wilkins he has himself a deal.

He then excuses himself and calls Mr. Giles.

The attempted desouling occurs, of course – Mayor Wilkins is too canny to believe that Angel would switch sides like that. But, due to the rather contrived coincidence of the desouler happening to be an old friend of Mr. Giles –

["Contrived is right," I said.

"Of course it is, Miss Mars."]

Angel then, pretending to be Angelus, "kidnaps" Miss Summers and the Mayor's other minions taunt her, after which she breaks free, she and Angel kill the vampires, and she and Angel have a long discussion and part on better terms, this time, after which he heads back to Los Angeles but promises to be there if Miss Summers and her friends need him.

The Mayor has no idea what happened.

_**Earshot**_**:**

Occurs approximately as it did originally, except that instead of going to Angel for a sanctuary, Miss Summers comes to you because of your immunity to magic, and that Mr. Giles and Miss Kelly had to get the demon's heart.

She also finds out that Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar are engaged – she proposed during the timeframe of what would have been Doppelgangland. After the crisis, Mr. Giles asks Miss Summers if she'd like to train, and her reply is "Sure! We can work out after school! If you're not too busy planning your wedding!"

["And he walks into a tree?" I asked.

"Some pratfalls are universal," was the reply.]

_**Choices**_**:**

Occurs with alterations. Ever since Angel revealed that the Mayor was the "Big Bad" of this year, Miss Summers and her friends have been keeping him under surveillance. You have assisted in this, primarily by teaching them surveillance techniques, as your father is still insistent on you staying away from the supernatural as much as possible.

Mr. Harris and Miss Chase, in between kissing each other passionately and arguing just as passionately, spot some of the Mayor's vampire minions – Angel did not nearly kill all of them – escorting the courier with the Box of Gavrok, and trail them back to City Hall before peeling away and heading to the library.

Mr. Giles, after doing research, figures out that what the Box of Gavrok is, and though he is uncertain why the Mayor would need it he is certain that it is not for any good purpose and, as Miss Summers is facing the same college issues as in the original timeline, decides once again to steal the box, with the assistance of Mr. Osbourne, Miss Rosenberg, and Miss Kelly, while Mr. Giles, Mr. Harris and Ms. Calendar continue their research into what the Box is used for. You have once again been limited to advising on the plan, and your advice is that deception sometimes works better than force.

So Miss Summers walks boldly into the Mayor's office after hours one evening and confronts him with everything they know about his evil plans – which is not much, of course, especially because she leaves out the Box of Gavrok. Mayor Wilkins, amused at the effrontery, lets her run down before responding. In the process, he mentions the word "Ascension," but reveals nothing further about his plans.

In the meantime, Mr. Osbourne, Miss Rosenberg and Miss Kelly have reached the top of the building, where Miss Rosenberg breaks through the spell and Miss Kelly spider climbs across the ceiling and down the wall, retrieves the Box of Gavrok, and returns to the roof.

Once they arrive at Mr. Osbourne's van, Mr. Osbourne leans on the horn three times and then leaves. Inside, Miss Summers banters back and forth with the Mayor for another five minutes, then suddenly turns, stakes one of the vampires in the room with them, kicks out the window, and jumps out.

Mayor Wilkins is amused and bemused simultaneously, and remains so until he discovers that the Box was stolen. In the library, Miss Summers and her friends stand around looking at the Box, until Miss Summers mentions "that Ascension thingy."

Mr. Giles turns to look at her angrily, and she says, "Didn't I mention that?"

_**The Prom**_**:**

Occurs much as it did in the original reality, save for yours and Mr. Echolls' presence, Miss Chase and Mr. Harris attending together, and the lack of anyone waiting to dance with Miss Summers at the end.

_**Graduation Day**_**:**

Occurs in changed form. Ever since Miss Summers and her allies stole the Box of Gavrok, Mayor Wilkins has tasked his vampiric minions with following all of them at various times, waiting for a good time to kidnap one of them. That time happens with one week left until graduation, when the vampires corner and overwhelm Mr. Harris. He is surprised not to be killed – until he sees the Mayor walk into the room he is being held in.

Miss Chase, alarmed when Mr. Harris does not show up to escort her home from work –

["Her parents still were nailed for tax evasion?" I asked.

"They had begun long before your insertion. There was little you could have done about this. This particular event is not being held against you."]

Miss Chase calls you and Miss Summers. You trace his movements and bring in Miss Rosenberg to cast a tracking spell. Miss Rosenberg's abilities are approximately on a par with what she would have had at this time – but she has greater control. Ms. Mistwood, Ms. Calendar and Miss Kelly have all been able to assist her in various ways, although Ms. Mistwood has had her difficulties running the magic store by herself.

The tracking spell leads to City Hall, and an ambush, and you are forced to retreat. When you get to the library, Mr. Giles is injured, Ms. Calendar taken. After taking Mr. Giles to the hospital, Miss Summers gathers everyone together a couple of hours later – and is surprised when Angel comes in, saying that Mr. Giles called him.

Mr. Harris has resisted the torture attempts so far with his traditional witticisms. Now the Mayor, reluctantly, is saying he'll be forced to do the same to Ms. Calendar, and "I really don't want to do that."

[Being Mayor Wilkins, he probably didn't. But without the Box of Gavrok, he must be getting desperate.]

Principal Snyder comes in after the meeting starts, ordering them all to disperse. You are saved by the timely arrival of Mr. Echolls, who invites everyone back to the Echolls Mansion. Miss Rosenberg and Miss Kelly gather books – Principal Snyder, being aware of the supernatural but unaware of the Mayor's plans, does not care what they do as long as they do not do it there.

Your father intercepts you in the parking lot, wanting to know what the tumult is about. You hesitate, and then Miss Summers steps in and bluntly informs him. "Look, take Veronica, don't take Veronica, run screaming into the night, I don't care at this point," she says. "But do something. If nothing else, _get the hell out of our way_."

Your father looks around for confirmation and finds more of it than he had hoped. Knowing the truth when he sees it, he not only gets out of the way, he agrees to assist, on the condition you stay out of the assault.

["You're kidding," I said.

Sounding vaguely affronted, he said, "Miss Mars. I _never_ kid."]

Miss Summers nods, and after looking at you, agrees. You regroup at Mr. Echolls' house. His mother is away.

After some back-and-forth, the assault is planned. You and Miss Chase stay behind to coordinate.

Your father, Mr. Echolls, and Miss Rosenberg distract the vampires – still waiting in ambush should they try again – by the simple expedient of driving through them. Your father says, "I'm putting a lot on trust here."

"I know," Miss Rosenberg says. After the vampires scatter, Miss Summers, Miss Kelly, and Mr. Osbourne charge out of hiding and stake or otherwise dispatch the vampires.

In the building, Mayor Wilkins is sadly preparing to torment Ms. Calendar when Angel comes crashing through the roof. He fights hard and frees Mr. Harris, but is on the verge of being overwhelmed when Miss Summers and her friends burst open the doors and kill all of the vampires.

Your father reads the Mayor the riot act as the rest of your free Ms. Calendar. She is shaken and bruised but otherwise unhurt. Mr. Harris, however, has cuts, bruises, a broken rib, and a black eye.

Miss Summers moves towards the Mayor, intent on mayhem, but your father stops her. This, however, leaves Miss Kelly free, and she finds the target by throwing a knife directly into his heart.

Your father is stunned, and stunned further when the Mayor looks down and removes the knife. "Well, goodness me, aren't you just a little Girl Scout?" he says. "Good to see the young people of today taking an interest in more traditional forms of weaponry. And now that we realize that you're not going to be able to hurt me, you might as well tell me where my Box of Gavrok is."

At that, everyone in the room except Mr. Echolls and Mr. Mars start laughing. "I love a good joke," the Mayor says.

"Then you're going to love this," Buffy said. "You've been wasting your time."

"How so?"

"We destroyed that last week."

"You did not," he says.

"Did too. Once we did some reading up on Ascensions and figured out what you were trying to do."

"Huh. Well, would you imagine that." 

Xander said, "Blows your chance of Ascension right out of the water, doesn't it?"

"It surely does," he says.

And with that, he calls up his Deputy Mayor and says, "Allan? I'm afraid I'm going to have to resign. That means you're in charge." After a second, he says, "Gosh darn it. The man fainted."

As it turns out, he is resigning because he made promises to various powers about what he would do once he gained power, and your destruction of the Box of Gavrok has made it impossible for him to ascend any time soon. And as he is still indestructible – and will remain so for quite a while – the alternative would be to chain him up forever so, under threats of mayhem should he ever show his face in Sunnydale again, he is allowed to leave – with nothing more than the clothes on his back. Your father drives him to the edge of town.

Everyone graduates. No explosives or army are necessary.

["And that's it?" I asked.

"The school is saved; students who lost their lives initially no longer do; and Principal Snyder lives."

"I hardly count the last as being a point in my favor," I said.

And the Adversary smiled. "But I do. His life, after all, is now better."

Point taken, I suppose.

"Still, that is not – _quite_ – it."]

A few weeks later, we come across now ex-Mayor Wilkins, hiding out in an apartment, somewhere. He is on the phone to someone he hopes can assist when the door comes bursting in and Mr. Giles, healed from his injuries, enters. Instead of attempting to injure Mr. Wilkins, though, he grabs him and shoves him out of the front door, where Angel takes hold of him.

"You really can't hurt me, you know," he says.

"I am aware of that," Mr. Giles says. "We are not attempting to hurt you."

And without further ado, he manipulates a carried amulet, and a demon appears. "What is it – oh. Richard Wilkins."

Angel says, grinning evilly, "I believe these folks are going to _like_ the fact that you can't die."

The demon, and Wilkins, disappear. Mr. Giles shakes Angel's hand, and leaves.

_**The Summer Between Seasons 3 and 4**_

You and your father both leave Sunnydale. He moves to Los Angeles, you head off to college.

["Hearst?"

"Does not exist in this universe," The Adversary said.

"Of course it doesn't." And that makes sense; after all, UC-Sunnydale doesn't exist in mine.]

You won the Kane scholarship, so will be attending the University of California at Irvine, going for a Bachelor of Arts in Criminology. Mr. Echolls, one should note, is going to UC-Sunnydale, but as you are closer to Sunnydale than your father is, this does not pose much of a problem for the two of you.

Your father reopens his detective agency in Los Angeles.

Miss Chase remains in Sunnydale, despite her parents' tax issues, as her relationship with Mr. Harris deepens. They go on their road trip together. She is not able to attend college but fully intends to do so in the future.

Miss Summers' father has other things to do this summer, so she remains in Sunnydale.

_**City Of**_**:**

Mr. Doyle –

["Hold it," I said.

"Yes?" The Adversary seemed puzzled.

"There was nothing in the bet about whether I improved things for the people on _Angel._"

"I believe it was implied."

"Implied doesn't equal stated clearly," I said.

"So, you wish to exclude the events on _Angel_?"

"I do," I said. While it was possible I'd changed things for the better, it's also entirely possible I changed things for the worse. And in any event, I really hadn't been factoring it in, either way. Maybe this would hurt me, maybe it would help, but I was willing to take my chances.

"Very well," he said. "Continuing -"]


	93. Member of the Wedding

Author's Note: Apologies for the slight delay. Working this chapter out was harder than I thought and more than once I had to cross out an episode or two and start over.

Thanks once again to all of those who commented on whether Veronica won or lost. Your thoughts have been quite helpful.

X X X X X

_**The Freshman:**_

Occurs in only mildly altered form. Mr Giles is obviously not sleeping with the woman, Olivia, is still Miss Summers' official Watcher, and is still the Sunnydale High Librarian.

Mr. Snyder, however, is _not_ the principal. Mayor Finch demoted him over the summer – he is now a history teacher – and replaced him with Ms. Calendar.

["Demoted? Why not fired?"

"The obvious reason. Fear of a lawsuit."]

As such, Ms. Calendar allows Miss Summers and her friends to freely come and go into the library, where Mr. Snyder would have banned that.

Miss Summers confronts, and defeats, the vampire named Sunday and her friends, and has a minor crisis of confidence but is shaken out of it rather rapidly by Mr. Harris and Miss Chase, who now have a small apartment of their own.

_**Living Conditions:**_

Occurs almost exactly as in the original timeline. The differences are trivial. Ms. Calendar and Mr. Giles continue to plan their wedding.

_**The Harsh Light of Day:**_

The main plot of the episode, of course, does not occur, as Spike is deceased and Harmony is not a vampire. One of the subplots does not occur, as Anya is still Anyanka and is still routinely and gleefully wishing evil things onto unfaithful men.

["And that counts against me," I said, not phrasing it in the form of a question.

"Indeed. As of this point Anyanka has caused several dozen more innocent men to suffer than she would have in the original timeline."]

Miss Summers and Mr. Abrams flirt, but before they can have sex, Mr. Echolls quietly informs Miss Summers of what he's heard about Mr. Abrams, and nothing further happens between them.

_**Fear Itself**_**:**

Occurs, though with deviations from the original timeline. Miss Chase joins the remainder at the Halloween party; therefore, no one is available to inform Mr. Giles as to what is going on. Miss Chase's fear is that of being just like everybody else, and Mr. Harris fears clowns, again, instead of disappearing. Despite Mr. Giles' lack of a timely save, however, Miss Summers manages to destroy Gachnar as he manifests.

_**Beer Bad**_**:**

Happens with minor alterations. Mr. Abrams attempts to flirt with Miss Summers again, but is shut down and finally gives up. Therefore, Miss Summers, not being upset, does not get drunk, though she does discuss Mr. Abrams with Agent Finn, whose role up till now has been approximately the same as in the original timeline.

Miss Summers and Mr. Harris save the day, as in the original timeline, though neither Mr. Abrams nor Miss Rosenberg are in any danger. Mr. Abrams instead attempts to seduce Miss Chase, who laughs in his face.

_**Wild At Heart**_**:**

Occurs as in the original timeline, with the exception of Spike's absence.

_**The Initiative**_**:**

Does not take place, though minor plot points do: Agent Finn punches Mr. Abrams for slightly different reasons,and Mr Finn still receives the shovel speech. We also learn that Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar's wedding is planned for December 21 and they will honeymoon over the traditional Christmas break. You are invited to the wedding, as is Miss Kelly.

Anyanka approaches Miss Rosenberg, but she recognizes the vengeance demon from your and Miss Chase's description, and declines to make a wish.

["Where is Sheila?" I asked. "I haven't heard you mention her recently."

"She is not present in Sunnydale at this time."

"And she is . . . ?" I prompted.

"Ah, Miss Mars. You asked me not to discuss that, remember?"

That couldn't mean what I thought it meant. Could it?]

_**Pangs:**_

Happens with minor changes. There is, of course, no Spike, and hearing that Miss Summers' mother will be absent, Ms. Calendar volunteers to host a Thanksgiving. Miss Chase also reveals Angel's presence earlier to Miss Summers – she does not see why he wants to cover up being there, anyway, and after the battle, Miss Summers catches him before he leaves, reproaches him for not wanting to talk to or see her, and they have an, all things considered, reasonably civil conversation before he leaves.

She is most concerned about him being alone, but he says he is not. He is working with Mr. Doyle, and Miss Steele – known as "Anne" in the original timeline but still Lily in this one – and your father –

["What?" I asked.

He didn't answer. Stupid supernatural entities and their habit of sticking to the letter of the law.]

And Miss Kelly.

[I didn't bother saying what this time. I already knew he wouldn't answer.]

_**Something Blue**_**:**

Does not occur. Ms. Rosenberg, while still upset about Mr. Osbourne's departure, has the restraint to avoid casting a hasty spell to heal herself, and while Miss Summers has still been somewhat less than completely supportive, Mr. Harris, Miss Chase and Ms. Calendar have been there to help her.

_**Hush**_**:**

Occurs as in the original timeline, with only trivial differences.

["Not a whole lot of differences in season 4," I said.

"So far, you're right," he said, with a slight but definite emphasis on the words "so far."

Hmm. So far Spike's absence or presences wouldn't have made quite as much of a difference – except that Buffy, who now knows that Riley is one of the "army guys," didn't get Spike's story of being experimented on.

I'll find out soon enough, I suppose.]

_**Doomed**_**: **

Takes place – the earthquake opens up a hole in the library floor, which arouses Mr. Giles' and Miss Summers' suspicions immediately, and prompting Ms. Calendar to shut down the school. The remainder of the episode happens similarly (granted Spike's absence), although the climax is not held in the library; instead, Miss Summers and her compatriots catch the demons outside the school where, with some timely intervention from Agent Finn, they are defeated.

The Library is relocated to temporary quarters in the school gymnasium while it is being repaired.

We cut to a few weeks later, for the wedding of Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar. You, Miss Kelly, Angel, and many others are in attendance.

As, although he was distinctly an uninvited guest, does Ethan Rayne, who has taken the place of one of the caterers, and adds a "secret ingredient" to the cake – which, as per Mr. Rayne's _raison d'etre_, causes chaos. After eating the cake, everyone begins to act as though they are extremely drunk and begins to behave wildly and inappropriately. Brawls break out.

Almost everyone, that is. You are unaffected, of course, as are Angel, Miss Chase, and Miss Rosenberg, none of whom consumed any of the cake. Angel does his best to break up the brawling, while you, Miss Chase and Miss Rosenberg attempt to restrain everyone else, particularly Miss Kelly, who in her inebriated state is concentrating on how cool it would be to destroy a building piece by piece. Unfortunately, she is able to cause quite a lot of damage to the building, and shattered windows and falling masonry injure several people, including Mr. Harris and, worse, Miss Chase.

Eventually you manage to take control of the situation Ms. Calendar strips down to the altogether, and Mr. Giles beats senseless one of the people taking photographs. Mr. Rayne is caught and "persuaded" under penalty of having his toenails ripped out with pliers to remove his spell, after which Angel binds him, gags him, and tosses him into the middle of the floor.

Sheriff Lamb belatedly arrives, but before he can start hauling people away Agent Finn shows up and "escorts" Mr. Rayne into government custody.

Mr. Giles is nonetheless arrested, while Mr. Harris and Miss Chase are taken to the hospital. Mr. Harris has a broken arm, and flying glass paralyzes Miss Chase from the waist down.

_**A New Man**_**:**

The early part of the episode still occurs, with slight alterations. Mr. Giles is still very much a part of Miss Summers' and the other lives – though he feels a slight sense of losing touch, it is considerably muted – and he is now settling in to married life with Ms. Calendar, so there is no real crisis of confidence. And in any event, Mr. Rayne has already been dealt with.

The charges against Mr. Giles were dropped rather swiftly, though he did have to spend his wedding night in custody. Mr. Harris' arm is still broken, and Miss Chase has not yet left the hospital.

Miss Kelly has apologized to everyone involved, but no one, including Miss Chase, blames her for what happened – except for Mr. Harris.

And Mr. Snyder uses the debacle at the wedding as proof that the current administration is incapable of policing itself, and announces his intention to run for Mayor of Sunnydale.

[A paralyzed Cordelia Chase, Snyder running for Mayor. Lovely. I'd always suspected that, if there was one survival that would not count in my favor, it would be Snyder's.]

_**The I in Team**_**:**

Happens as in the original timeline. What differences there are are trivial, with the exception of Miss Chase's hospitalization.

_**Goodbye Iowa**:_

Occurs with differences. As Miss Chase is still hospitalized, Miss Summers and her friends are at a loss to determine where to hide, or even if they can. Mr. Giles suggests they call Angel to provide Miss Chase with protection, but Agent Finn bursts in before they can place the call.

The subsequent conversation is also more civil, as there is no Spike to raise Agent Finn's ire, although he still disbelieves what the group has to say about Colonel Walsh. Afterward, they call Angel – who agrees to come down and protect Ms. Chase - and go to Ms. Calendar's old place of residence for the night.

From that point onwards, the episode happens similarly.

_**This Year's Girl/Who Are You:**_

With Faith deceased, of course, the main plotline of these episodes does not happen. The Adam portion of the story occurs with some differences. Mr. Harris' role is lessened, both due to his broken arm and Miss Chase's continued hospitalization. The young woman is definitely improving, though, and has absolutely no intention of remaining paralyzed for the rest of her life. Miss Rosenberg informs her that magic cannot really help, and Miss Chase snorts and says, "Yeah, right. Magic got me into this situation, Wiccagirl; I'm not about to rely on it to get me out of it."

Miss MacLay and Miss Rosenberg's relationship does not quite deepen to the level it did in the original story, as Miss Rosenberg does not need her fellow witch's assistance in tracking down Faith. Still, it does deepen, and she still introduces Miss MacLay to the remainder of her friends.

Adam still "inspires" the group of vampires to invade the church, and Miss Summers makes short work of them once Mr. Giles manages to distract the police.

_**Superstar**_**: **

Takes place approximately as in the original timeline. No significant differences. You, in college, are not affected, but you can do nothing about the situation before it reverts to normal. You do have an amusing conversation with Mr. Echolls attempting to convince him that something is wrong, however.

_**Where the Wild Things Are**_**:**

Differs. Mr. Harris can no longer settle for a job with an ice cream truck, but begins to work construction earlier than in the original timeline; now that Miss Chase is unable to work he needs a steadier paycheck, though his friends have quietly been helping him where they can. Mrs. Summers offered to let them stay there for nominal rent, but so far he and Miss Chase have turned them down.

Anyanka and Spike are, for obvious reasons, not at the party, and neither is Mr. Harris, so Miss MacLay is the one who discovers a student with cut off hair, and she and Miss Rosenberg go to find Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar to get assistance.

The remainder of the episode happens similarly, though it is Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar who perform the rescue.

Mr. Snyder's campaign for recall is in full swing. Miss Summers' mother is rather vehemently opposing him, being fully aware of the kind of person he is. Most of the former Sunnydale High students who were not athletes fully support her in this – those who are in town, anyway.

_**New Moon Rising**:_

Now here is where things start to get interesting.

["Had they been boring previously?" I asked.

"That all depends on how easily one becomes bored, Miss Mars," the Adversary said.

"It is interesting how little I now fit into my own story," I said.

"I could tell you your story," he said. "It mostly involves solving mysteries at college and occasional visits to Sunnydale and Los Angeles. But that would be off the topic, and I believe you wanted this ended quickly."

"This is quickly?" I asked.

"For me, this is quickly," was the response.

And again: Lovely.]

The opening part of the episode has no noteworthy changes. Miss Chase is improving and is barreling through her physical therapy, to the point where she is expected to leave the hospital much sooner than expected.

No Spike, of course, means no one for Adam to recruit, and no one to lead Miss Summers and her rescue party to the "back door" of the Initiative. With no other alternative, Miss Summers break into the fraternity house housing the soldiers and "persuades" one of the residents to show them the staircase, after which they render him unconscious and stash him in a closet.

The rescue operation is a success – but, as it took Miss Summers and company an additional half hour to devise and implement their plan, Mr. Osbourne is considerably more injured – though not nearly to the extent of Miss Chase – and in the form of a wolf. Miss Summers is forced to incapacitate him to carry him out. Angel is called upon once more to provide protection to Miss Chase and Mr. Osbourne, who determines to leave the hospital as soon as he is physically able to do so.

Miss MacLay and Miss Rosenberg then begin their romance, officially, but agree to keep things low key until Mr. Osbourne is able to leave, so as to avoid bringing out his wolf prematurely. Mr. Finn hides in an abandoned mansion on Crawford Street.

Mr. Snyder, in the meantime, has connected enough signatures to bring about a recall election. Mr. Finch, who viewed his role as being nothing more than a caretaker position anyway, declines to run against him.

[Mayor Snyder. Isn't that just – peachy.

Not to mention Cordelia's injury – and Oz's injury, even though it's not as serious.]

_**The Yoko Factor/Primeval**_**:**

Does not occur in its original form, for reasons I believe are unnecessary to re-recapitulate yet again. Instead of motivating Spike with the potential for removing his chip, he is devoting extra time to motivating the remainder of his followers – and he does have quite a few. He also is surreptitiously feeding data to Colonel McNamara about the location of Miss Summers, and Mr. Finn, on the theory that the distraction will give him extra time to complete his – yes, Miss Mars – "evil plan."

Colonel McNamara is angry enough to fall directly into the trap, although Mr. Gates and Mr. Miller have their suspicions. A squad is sent to the mansion and a second squad is sent to Sunnydale Memorial to "recover" Mr. Osbourne and secure Miss Chase. Miss Summers' mother, it must be noted, is not a target. The Colonel is angry, yes, but not so much as to fall into the caricature of a mustache-twirling movie villain.

The Colonel's operation, it must be noted, is unsuccessful. Mr. Finn and Miss Rosenberg – bringing him food – successfully fend off their three attackers, while Miss Chase and Mr. Osbourne are being guarded not only by Angel and Mr. Harris, but also by your father, who has used what influence he has with the outgoing Mayor to have representatives from the Sheriff's Office also present.

Sheriff Lamb, who does not approve but was overruled, quietly informs Mr. Snyder as to what is going on. Mr. Snyder contacts the local media and goes directly to Sunnydale Memorial.

Mr. Finn and Miss Rosenberg, in the meantime, have gotten the story of what's going on from Mr. Miller, who was one of their attackers. Mr. Miller also voices his suspicions that Colonel McNamara is being played for a fool. Mr. Finn and Miss Rosenberg contact Miss Summers and everyone begins to converge on Sunnydale hospital.

Mr. Gates, following orders though he shares Mr. Miller's belief about Colonel McNamara, is telling the Sheriff's deputies that they have jurisdiction, which the deputies, under orders and prodded by Mr. Mars and Angel, do not accept. Mr. Gates and his fellows are dressed in street clothes.

As the tension in the corridor ratchets – with everyone but the duty nurse having fled – people approach from three different directions. Mr. Finn and Miss Rosenberg come up the staircase; Mr. Giles and Miss Summers come down the hallway; and Mr. Snyder, and a camera crew from the local news team, come out of the elevator.

Mr. Finn stays in the stairwell, but everyone else heads for Miss Chase's room. Miss Summers joins Angel, Mr. Harris, and your father. Mr. Giles and Miss Rosenberg head for Mr. Osbourne's room. Mr. Gates sees the camera crew and says, "Turn that thing off!"

"Not before I alert the people of this city to the shameful way former officeholders are able to commandeer the public resources of this city for their own ends," Mr. Snyder says. "Thanks to a tip, I learned that our mayor was obstructed the army of the United States in their pursuit of -"

"Of me," Miss Chase says, wheeling herself out from her room. "Apparently the US Army thinks I'm dangerous for some reason -"

That is as far as she gets. Mr, Gates reaches forwards and slams the camera down to the corridor floor; his fellow soldiers step on it and break it.

As Mr. Snyder sputters and the cameraman begins to complain about the loss of his camera, Mr. Gates says, "IS the footage destroyed?"

"Footage?" the reporter says. "That just went out live."

"Yes," Mr. Snyder says. "Exactly what are you hiding?"

"Why?" Your father asks. "Do you want to help them hide it?"

Mr. Gates says, "Live?"

"On KBTS Sunnydale Channel 13," the cameraman says.

"Seen by hundreds of people," Miss Chase said.

"Thousands," the reporter says.

"Please! You guys are third in the market, and it's a small market," Miss Chase says. "Still, hundreds should be enough, shouldn't it?"

"What's going on here?" Mr. Snyder says.

"What's going on is now all of those people know that the army is willing to destroy cameras to hide the reason they're trying to kidnap Cordy," Mr. Harris says pleasantly. "So, the question in their minds is going to be, what are they hiding?"

"Deputies?" your father says. "Could you please escort the camera crew away from here? I believe it's time for a serious discussion of things we might not want to have the media know. And then stay at a distance and keep watch. Thank you."

The deputies follow your father's directions. Once the camera crew and deputies are out of range – Mr. Snyder has remained, but no one seems to care – Mr. Gates says, "They won't believe a damn thing. You know what the people in this town are like. You've lived here long enough."

Miss Chase says, "Guess again, soldier boy. They might blank out all that supernatural mumbo jumbo but this? This is just the local army base throwing its weight around to harass a couple of innocent people. And _that_ they're going to remember."

["This couldn't have been planned," I said.

"It wasn't. But Miss Chase is excellent at improvisation. And, as you may have guessed, she is _very_ unhappy."]

"Oh, shit," Mr. Gates says.

"Now, gentlemen," Mr. Snyder says. "Certainly we can smooth this over . . . I guarantee my administration -"

"You're not going to _have_ an administration if we have anything to say about it," Mr. Gates says.

Right then one of the other soldiers gets a phone call. "Forrest, that was – you-know-who. Something's going down. We have to go."

Adam came to the conclusion that the best time to free the demons was when the Slayer and as many Initiative soldiers as possible were distracted – without giving the Slayer and her friends time to plan an attack.

"[The consequences of no Spike?"

"One of them," he said.

"The climactic battle seems to be happening faster."

"It is, by a day or so."]

After various arguments, everyone goes to the Initiative except for your father, Miss Chase and Mr. Snyder. Mr. Osbourne, though not at full capacity, leaves with them. Along the way, Mr. Finn frees the Initiative soldiers he and Miss Rosenberg captured.

Mr. Gates still isn't particularly fond of Miss Summers, but isn't going to turn down any help he can get, at this point. Finding the elevator blocked, they head en masse for the back entrance, which is guarded, although not for long.

The mass battle is similar, although with fewer soldiers in the headquarters there are more casualties. Colonel McNamara is among the dead.

The confrontation with Adam, however, is entirely different, as Miss Summers and her friends have not had the time to plan out a detailed plan of attack.

Since Miss Summers realizes even she cannot handle Adam on her own, the decision is made to have everyone attack at once – that possibly this will overwhelm him.

Mr. Finn is taken out when Adam orders him to stop through the chip, and he does. Mr. Miller sees this and immediately knocks Mr. Finn unconscious, to prevent him from being used against them.

Adam was prepared for Miss Summers, but was not prepared for everyone, including the five Initiative soldiers and Angel, to be working together, and while two of the other Initiative soldiers are killed, Mr. Miller is badly injured (shot through a lung), Mr. Harris rebreaks his arm and Mr. Giles, per custom, is knocked unconscious, Adam is incapable of adjusting to so many attacks, so quickly, and while Angel, Miss Summers and Mr. Osbourne hold him down, Miss Rosenberg magically removes Adam's power source – which she has been magically searching for since the beginning of the battle.

With that over, Miss Rosenberg and Mr. Harris remain behind to tend to the injured, while everyone capable of doing so goes out to try to minimize the remaining casualties.

One of the men on the committee that assigned blame afterward had the following to say:

". . . our soldiers suffered a 77 percent casualty rate. Only through the actions of the deserter, a handful of his comrades who were willing to buck Colonel McNamara when he apparently went off the rails, and a group of civilian insurrectionists that the losses were not total . . . our soldiers will be debriefed. Standard confidentiality clause.

Mr. Snyder proved easy to deal with, as well – years of service to the former Mayor of Sunnydale taught him the value of covering things up. This has meant the end of his political campaign, as he has been unable to answer questions regarding the incident at the hospital. The remainder of the civilians have been keeping the secrets for years, but we will monitor them and the usual measures will be prepared should they try to go public. I don't think they will. The Initiative itself will be filled in with concrete. Burn it down, gentlemen. Burn it down, and salt the Earth."

_**Restless**_**:**

Does not happen in any form.

[So. More Initiative soldiers dead. Snyder discredited. Forrest alive. Cordelia paralyzed. Graham badly hurt but apparently not fatally. Sineya not invoked.

Altogether, not the best possible year. Not the _worst_, but not the best, either.

Up in the air? That's me, at the moment.

Let's hope I land on my feet.

Hell, I'll settle for not landing on my head.]


	94. Voluntarily

["Shall we continue?" The Adversary said.

"Mind if I stretch my legs and go for a smoke break?"

"Miss Mars, you do not smoke."

"Figure of speech," I said. "Give me a second to stretch. I feel like I've been sitting down for days."

I wasn't exaggerating. The Adversary and I were still sitting in the somewhat transfigured version of the Echolls poolhouse, and I wasn't just listening to him narrate; I was watching the highlights along the way, in TV-style. Hearing about Cordelia's and Graham's injury were one thing; seeing the shard of glass enter her back, watching him take a bullet that couldn't have missed the heart by more than an inch, was something else entirely.

"Very well," he said. "Five minutes. And it is not as though you could run, anyway."

True, that.

So I went for a walk – dodging around the still-frozen bodies of my friends – went into the Echolls house, and got a soda from the refrigerator.

I probably could have asked the Adversary for one, but for all I knew that could have started a new transaction between us, and the old one? Not shaping up to be one of my fondest memories, even if I do win.

Idly, I thought that after this long a time period I should probably have to use the bathroom too, so apparently he'd frozen all of my physical needs; I wasn't actually thirsty, either, but I was going to drink the soda anyway.

The way things were shaping up, it was entirely possible that it could be my last action before receiving my punishment. Not what I would have chosen for a heroic last stand – "If those are my last words, I can do better -" but you take what you can get.

I headed back to the poolhouse, sat down, and the fun began again.]

_**The Summer between Seasons 4 and 5:**_

Angel, your father, Mr. Miller, Mr. Gates, and the rest of the Initiative leave town. Mr. Finn is invited, but declines, for obvious reasons.

Mr. Osbourne also departs, saying that while he now knows he can control himself when necessary, it is a skill he needs to master. He promises, however, to return when he is ready. "You might need me," he says.

Miss Chase leaves the hospital, still in her wheelchair. She and Mr. Harris take Mrs. Summers up on her offer; Mr. Harris, Miss Summers and Miss Kelly construct a ramp for Miss Chase, who takes the opportunity to bluntly inform Miss Kelly, "Look. Thanks. I appreciate it. But if you apologize one more time I'll leap out of this chair and beat your brains in. Got me?"

Mr. Echolls transfers from UC-Sunnydale to UC-Irvine to be closer to you.

Mr. Snyder, despite his unpopularity with a number of people, was the only mayoral candidate behind whom a number of people had coalesced, and with his forced departure from the race, there is something of a scramble. Sheriff Lamb – no need to have a heart attack, Miss Mars – declines, perhaps understanding, at least dimly, the concept of the Peter Principle.

The people who had backed Mr. Snyder – who retreats, muttering, to his job as a history teacher, though he is fortunate to still have that – eventually decide on an emergency candidate. The forces arrayed in opposition have their own nominee, and she wins.

["I would guess I've heard of the she. Jenny Calendar?"

"No."]

Ms. Calendar was, in fact, approached, but also declines; she stays on as principal largely because she fears that her replacement would once again be Mr. Snyder.

Mrs. Summers was also asked to run, but declined because she already had a full-time job. The new mayor is a woman you have never heard of and who will prove a perfectly competent and conscientious public employee.

_**Buffy vs. Dracula:**_

Happens similarly, though Miss Summers is more resistant to the thrall, and Mr. Harris is able to pull free of Dracula's hypnosis sooner, as in this timeline he no longer considers himself "everyone's butt monkey." This results in several changes, most of them trivial, although this time Miss Summers, Mr. Giles and Mr. Finn embark on the rescue together, while Mr. Harris stays well away, just in case.

It ends identically, with Dracula leaving town, and the younger Miss Summers showing up for the first time.

_**The Real Me**_**:**

Only part occurs; one of the reasons, of course, is that Harmony Kendall was never turned into a vampire, and therefore is not available to kidnap the younger Miss Summers, and her "minions," who were stupid enough to let her be the one to organize her in the first place, are scattered, or dead, in the altered timeline.

We discover that the younger Miss Summers admires Miss Chase for her fashion sense, courage, and willingness to speak her mind and dislikes Miss Kelly for causing the accident.

Ms. Mistwood requests help from Ms. Calendar and Mr. Giles with her magic store; they agree to assist occasionally but recommend Mr. Harris and Miss Chase; as Ms. Mistwood needs the assistance and Mr. Harris and Miss Chase need the money, this proves a beneficial arrangement all the way around.

And then the elder Miss Summers calls you for some "Short outcast blonde" solidarity and to complain about her sister, and you bring her up short by asking, "What sister?"

_**The Replacement:**_

Takes place approximately as in the original timeline, except that people figure out that Mr. Harris has been split in two considerably sooner. The mature half does a good enough job at reorganizing the basement of the magic store that she gives him a raise, but does not have time to procure an apartment.

However, after talking to Miss Summers and others for the better part of a week – especially Miss Kelly and Ms. Mistwood, who are able to convince them that, given your magic-nullity, that your inability to remember the younger Miss Summers means that something is wrong with the world, not with you.

Mr. Finn is still convinced that Miss Summers does not love him.

_**Out of my Mind:**_

Prior to the events of this episode, Miss Summers, with the assistance of Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar, performs the same spell she did in the original timeline, a couple of weeks earlier, and, this time around, makes a beeline for her younger sister's room, and watches it change from a storage room into the bedroom of a teenaged girl.

She and Mr. Finn take a a protesting younger Miss Summers to the library, where the two of them plus Mr. Giles, Ms. Calendar, Miss Rosenberg, and Miss MacLay ask her who she is.

"Are you mental?" the younger woman shrieks. "I'm your sister."

Miss Summers explains the spell, as does Mr. Giles, but nothing convinces the younger woman. After a few minutes Miss MacLay says, "She's telling the truth."

"Of _course_ I am!" the younger Miss Summers says.

Miss Summers nods her head. "I did that spell right, Giles, I know I did."

"Mind if we repeat it?" Miss Rosenberg says.

"Be my guest."

"Dawn, do you trust us?" Miss MacLay asks.

"Yeah. _You_," she says.

And so Miss Rosenberg assists Miss MacLay in performing the ritual once again. Miss MacLay pulls clear and looks around the room, and, of course, gets the same results. "Dawnie, I'm sorry," she says. "Buffy's right."

"Why are we treating – this – as though it were real?" Miss Summers asks.

"I'm not a this, Buffy. I'm your sister!"

"Hold on," Mr. Finn says. "Tara, you said she's telling the truth, right?" Miss MacLay nods. "Buffy, whether she's your sister or not, she's not part of it."

"How do we know she's not some kind of programmed assassin? I don't want -"

"Dawn? Can we examine you?" Miss Rosenberg asks.

"Yeah," the younger woman says, half in anger, half in sadness.

The events of the actual episode take place approximately as in the original timeline, minus the presence of Spike, of course – so the surgery proceeds smoothly and Mr. Finn is cured.

The Misses Summers spend the entire episode not communicating with each other; the only thing they appear to agree on is not informing Mrs. Summers of what is happening, and that the argument is over something else entirely.

_**No Place Like Home:**_

Before the normal events of this episode, Miss Summers speaks with you again. You tell her that when she called you immediately after _Buffy vs. Dracula_ was the first time you ever heard her mention a sister; that a week before she'd said she to leave her mother alone, given where they lived.

A couple of days later, there is a meeting in the library. Everyone is there and Miss Rosenberg and Miss MacLay reveal what they've learned: That the younger Miss Summers is not a pre-programmed assassin, is not evil in any fashion, and is completely human – but with a very strong aura of magic that neither one of them can figure out. Miss Summers adds what you told her, and then apologizes to her sister for believing her to be bent on killing them all.

"I get it, I get it," the younger woman says, grumblingly.

"And I think I know _when_ you suddenly showed up, too," Miss Summers says. "I was talking to Veronica – you know, no-magic-can-bug-her gal – and she says the first time I started mentioning you was right after we finally kicked Dracula's ass."

"I _remember_ that, though. I remember Mom letting him in -"

"You would, Dawnie," Miss MacLay says. "You seem to have been created with full memories, and with our memories altered as well."

"But _why_?" She says. "Why would someone do this to me? To you? To all of us?"

"I don't know," Ms. Calendar said. "But, trust me: We're going to do our best to find out. You're an innocent victim in all of this, but you were obviously put here for a reason."

"Do we know that?" Miss Chase says. "I mean, how do we know that things like this don't happen all the time? Like, what are those birds that lay their eggs in other birds' nests?"

"Cuckoos," Mr. Giles says.

"Right? How do we know she's not one of those? I don't mean exactly like it, like she hatched out of an egg or anything, or even that she knows it, but is there some magical race like that?"

[And once again, the first prize for tact goes to . . .]

"Yes, there is," Mr. Giles says. "They're called changelings."

They assure the younger woman that they do not mean that she, personally, is a changeling; merely that that is the best analogy they can come up with. She is not entirely convinced.

All agree not to inform Mrs. Summers, who has, of course, been feeling ill recently.

The main events of the episode take place with changes, the most important of which is that Miss Summers is already aware of her sister's recent insertion into reality. The parts of the episode which depend upon this simply do not occur, and neither does Miss Summers believe that her sister is causing her mother's illness.

The battle with Glorificus occurs as it did originally.

The dialogue with the dying monk also has alterations. After the monk says, "Made it human and sent it to you," Miss Summers says, "That makes sense."

"It does?"

"Yeah. This would have been a few weeks back, right? Mid- September?"

"Yes." He then explains that the younger Miss Summers is the Key and begs the Slayer to protect her. "She does not know she is not human," the monk says.

"She does now. But I'll protect her anyway."

'Good."

By the end of the episode, everyone knows what the younger woman is – and all agree to protect her. "You might not have been born my sister, but you're my sister now," Miss Summers says.

_**Family:**_

Occurs, though the discussion about the younger Miss Summers does not, and the debate over Miss MacLay's birthday presents takes place at the Espresso Pump, not at the magic shop.

"Still hangin' out in high school, sis? Thought you'd've outgrown a place like this by now," are Donny MacLay's first words, as he discovers Miss MacLay, Miss Rosenberg, Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar in the library.

Mr. Finn does not go to Willy's place; while still convinced Miss Summers does not love him, he lacks the sense of exclusion he felt in the original timeline. Therefore, he is at both meetings described below.

Miss MacLay casts her spell while Miss Summers and most of her friends are gathered in the library discussing the younger Miss Summers' condition, and Glorificus. Miss Chase and Mr. Harris, however, are not present when the spell is cast, as they are working.

No significant changes for the majority of the remainder of the episode; the Lei-Ach demons track Miss Summers to the library, but Mr. Harris and Miss Chase see them enter.

Mr. Harris fights the demons alongside Miss Summers, with Miss Chase calling out directions.

The battle ends more swiftly, but not before Miss MacLay lifts the spell. The ensuing confrontation happens similarly until Mr. Harris says, "You're dealing with all of us."

"Damn straight," Miss Chase adds. "So back off."

"Are you going to roll over me?" Mr. MacLay says.

"Don't think I won't, buster," is the response.

"This is insane. You people have no right to interfere with Tara's affairs. _We _are her blood kin. Who the hell are you?"

"We're family," Miss Summers says.

Donny MacLay takes a step forward. "Tara, if you don't get in that car, I swear by god I will beat you down."

Miss Chase thrusts her wheelchair forward as hard as she can, striking Donny MacLay and knocking him backwards. "Yeah, I doubt it," she says.

Beth MacLay says, "I hope you'll all be happy hanging out with a disgusting demon."

After a moment, Ms. Calendar says, "Things are disgusting only if you think you are. Tara isn't disgusting, whether she's part demon or not. The rest of you, on the other hand -"

"She's evil!" Mr. MacLay says.

"I think," Mr. Giles says, "That we have well established who here is evil, and who here is not. Now, Mr. MacLay and the rest of you: This is a high school library. I am the librarian. Ms. Calendar here is the principal of the school. You are trespassing. Your actions, now, are limited to the following: Leave voluntarily and never return to Sunnydale again, or be thrown out forcibly and never return to Sunnydale again. It is, of course, entirely up to you which option you choose."

Mr. MacLay says, "Tara. For eighteen years your family -"

Miss Summers interrupts. "Hey, Giles. Does that sound like voluntarily leaving to you?"

The Watcher's answer is, "No, Buffy. It doesn't. If you, Riley and Xander would assist me -"

They all take a step forward, and Mr. MacLay, his bluff called, turns and leaves, the remainder of his family following after.

Miss MacLay is grateful, but asks what they'll do "if, if my demon ever comes out and I hurt people."

"That's not going to happen," Miss Rosenberg says firmly.

"But -"

"Shh."

_**Fool for Love**_

The main plot, of course, does not happen, with Spike deceased; in its place, Miss Summers calls Angel and asks her what he can recall about Spike killing his Slayers. (He knows almost nothing about the second one, but a good deal about the first, secondhand, of course.)

Mr. Finn keeps a more level head, and Mr. Harris and Miss Rosenberg are somewhat more professional, so he does not become "mad, bad, and dangerous to know."

Mrs. Summers still has to head to the hospital at the end of the episode.

[Sighing, I said, "Joyce Summers is still going to die of that aneurysm, isn't she?"

"Most probably. You did nothing to prevent it, after all."

"Does it count against me?"

"Yes, Miss Mars, although not dramatically so. It is unlikely you could have done anything to prevent it, but you may have been able to forestall it."

"She probably would have died no matter what I would have done?"

The Adversary nodded. "Yes. Which is why it does not count significantly against you."

Better than horrible, I guess, but every little but hurts.]

_**Shadow:**_

Occurs as in the original timeline, except that Mr. Finn does not go off and seek a vampire, and Glorificus' spell-created snake finds the younger Miss Summers in the Summers home, not in the magic store.

_**Listening to Fear:**_

Happens approximately as it did the first time. Mr. Finn is present for the vampire hunt at the beginning; the Misses Summers and Miss Rosenberg recognize that the insane reacting to the younger Miss Summers probably means something (given her resent insertion into existence) and intend to try to figure out what; and Mr. Finn gets the army and Miss Summers' group to share information and work together, instead of trying to stop the Queller using simply military means.

_**Into the Woods:**_

Is significantly altered, beginning with Mr. Finn not leaving Miss Summers to go to the vampire "whorehouse." So when he returns to his apartment and finds Mr. Miller – who made a full recovery from his injuries, though it took him months - and Major Ellis, he is not in nearly so bad a mood. He hears them out, asks a couple of questions, and says that he will consider it, but he has some thinking to do. They thank him for his time and leave.

Without Miss Summers' anger at the existence of the vampire "whorehouse"'s existence, it continues to operate. But, as Mr. Giles pointed out in the original timeline, its presence in Sunnydale does very little harm, so its continued existence in this one does not count against you.

[Well, that's good to know.]

Miss Summers is training in her backyard when Mr. Finn approaches her and says that they need to talk.

"About what?"

"Us."

Miss Summers stops. "That kind of talk," she says.

"That kind of talk," Mr. Finn confirms. "For a while now I've been pretty much convinced that you don't need me – that you don't love me." He does not say this angrily, but sadly.

Still a bit upset, she says, "Why do you think that?"

"Because of what's been going on the last couple of months." Holding up a hand to forestall any objections, he says, "Hear me out." And then he explains himself. "I know you've been busy with your mother being ill. I know you've been busy trying to figure this stuff out with Dawn. That's not what's been bothering me." And after the explanation is over, he says, "Graham and Colonel Ellis want me to go to Belize with them," and explains what became of the remains of the Initiative.

"And you want to go," Miss Summers says.

"Part of me does. Part of me never wants to leave you, ever. I love you, Buffy. But I don't think you need me. Do you?"

"Do I get the whole ten seconds?" she asks sarcastically.

Trying to lighten the mood, he says, "Go ahead. Take twenty."

". . . but that I'm taking any time at all answers your question, doesn't it?"

"Unfortunately. Unless you think you could love me."

"Yeah. Problem there is, I honestly thought I had been. I've never thought of you as a "rebound guy" or anything like that. I swear." She is crying, though not heavily.

"I know. That's what makes it hard. That's why it took me so long to figure out," Mr. Finn says.

They hug.

"So off you go to Belize?"

"Yeah," he says. "But – I talked to Colonel Ellis. One of the conditions of me rejoining is that I get to come back here on a moment's notice when all hell breaks loose."

Miss Summers asks, "How do you know it will?" 

"I was here last May," he says.

"Oh. Right."

"And besides, this woman you've been fighting, and this situation with Dawn, it'd be a dereliction of duty for me just to take off no matter what happened between us."

"What did just happen?"

Mr. Finn sighs. "I think we broke up."

"I know."

And Mr. Finn gets on the helicopter that evening, with Miss Summers, Mr. Harris (who declines to rake Miss Summers over the coals, although he does gently reprove her), and Miss Rosenberg waving goodbye.

["So there's a chance we might see Riley Finn again?"

"We saw him again in actual canon, Miss Mars."

True, that. "You know what I mean."

"Probably. But I have always preferred precision."

"Never mind, then." I took a sip of my soda. "Let's move on to _Triangle_, okay?"

He smiled. "If you insist."]


	95. New Slayer in Town

I apologize for the delay. I have been doing significant overtime at work and my time for writing has been circumscribed.

Also, I initially intended to have season 5 end with this chapter, but I've reached the point in the story where it would have made this chapter too bloated. Apologies.

_**Triangle:**_

Does not happen. Miss Summers still grieves the end of her relationship with Mr. Finn, but as it was significantly less traumatic than in the original timeline, she is not as devastated. Mr. Giles has been to England to Watcher's Council headquarters and has returned; he and Ms. Calendar went over the Christmas holiday as a combination working vacation/anniversary vacation. The higher-ups at the Watchers' council were most put out to have her make suggestions on how they could automate the place.

The Council is not let in on who or what the Key is.

He came back with the news about Glorificus not learned in the original timeline until _Checkpoint_: That she is, in fact, a goddess. He also says that the Council "insists" on sending the other active Slayer here to assist in the battle. Privately, he suspects that there are other reasons as well.

This is not the replacement for Faith; that Slayer was killed a few months back by a chaos demon in South America. This will be the new Slayer

Mr. Snyder, incidentally, was fired over this break as well; not by Ms. Calendar, but by the new mayor herself, who had already discovered plenty of evidence implicating him in supernatural corruption but had just now been able to put together enough of a case to get him fired without having to resort to that.

He does not bother fighting his dismissal, knowing that, in a sense, he was fortunate to keep his job as long as he did.'

["Are we going to see _him_ again?"

"All in due time, Miss Mars."

I'd say, what's to worry, it's Snyder, but I know the rule: As soon as you say "what could possibly go wrong," something goes wrong. It's one of the few immutable rules of fiction.]

_**Checkpoint:**_

Does not happen, for the most part. Glorificus' actions (up to and including entering Miss Summers' home to threaten her), Summers' and the professor's argument (though she gives, in this case, as good as she gets), and the attack by the Knights of Byzantium do occur, however.

The discussion with Glorificus goes a bit differently; to Glorificus' question whether the younger Miss Summers knows anything about the Key, the young woman rolls her eyes and says, "Yeah, right. Like she'd tell me anything."

Miss Summers then attempts to send her mother and her sister to Los Angeles, but settles for sending them to visit Mrs. Echolls, and while her security might not be capable of holding off a hellgod, she at least does not live in a place most people would think to look.

[I'm standing just outside the Echolls house and I'd almost completely forgotten that the Echolls and the Kanes were still part of this timeline. This isn't my story, as I said. Still, I wondered how Duncan was doing – how Backup was doing. I didn't give a shit, of course, about Jake, Celeste, or Clarence Weidman, and I was pretty much actively wishing for something bad to happen to Don Lamb.

I am not a particularly forgiving woman.]

Then Miss Rosenberg and Miss MacLay draw their magical protection circles around the Summers home and Sunnydale High. This takes them quite a while.

While this is going on, we meet the new Slayer and her Watcher for the first time.

Actually, Miss Summers and her friends meet them for the first time. You, Miss Mars, however . . .

["Let me guess," I said. "Wesley Wyndham-Price and Kennedy."

He smiled. "You are exactly half right."]

Miss Summers, Miss Chase, Mr. Harris, Ms. Calendar and Mr. Giles are in the library. Mr. Giles is going over the details of what they learned about Glorificus – earlier, he had given them all a summary only, but given her recent actions everyone felt it was time to go into as much depth as possible – when there's a polite throat-clearing.

"Mr. Giles?" the man said. "I'm Wesley Wyndham-Price. You were told we'd be coming?"

The young woman next to him rushes forward. "This is so cool. This is so _freaking_ cool, you have no idea. I've wanted to meet you for, well, ever since I became a Slayer." She reaches out and shakes Miss Summers' hand.

"And this is my Slayer," he says, a touch aggrievedly. "Violet."

"Call me Vi," she says chipperly.

_**Blood Ties:**_

A significant portion takes place, though much of it, such as Mr. Giles briefing everyone on the Watchers' Council's findings on Glorificus, and Miss MacLay and Miss Rosenberg protecting the "Scooby Gang"'s headquarters, has happened prior to when it did in the original timeline.

As Miss Summers did not come to a conclusion about who had power and who did not, Mrs. and the younger Miss Summers are still staying at the Echolls estate. Lynn Echolls is happy to have them there, and even to hosting Miss Summers' birthday party. You, Miss Kelly, and Mr. Echolls are also in attendance, as is Vi.

The younger Slayer – a month or so past her fifteenth birthday – is thrilled beyond the telling to just be breathing the same air as Buffy Summers, leading Miss Summers to wonder exactly what she was told about her. "I've done some good, yeah – okay, a lot of good. But I'm hardly superwoman."

"I'll tell you as much as you want to know about the bad side of Buffy Summers," Miss Chase tells her. "By the time I'm done, you'll hate her as much as I do."

Mr. Wyndham-Price, we discover, has learned in the course of mentoring an active Slayer, particularly one as chipper and upbeat as Vi, that "the book" is a good place to start, but not necessarily a good place to stay. He is still somewhat stuffy and priggish, but not nearly so as he was when Faith and Miss Summers met him for the first time.

He also has a definite fondness for Vi.

As the younger Miss Summers has been included in many of the discussions about her nature, and about Glorificus, she has no need to sneak out to find things out. She does not much care for this newcomer her sister seems to be spending so much time with, however, and eventually sneaks out and makes her way to the hospital.

The remainder of the episode is similar to the original timeline, except that Vi joins the battle – and for all of her enthusiasm and energy, is far too canny to simply rush Glorificus, instead standing back and throwing things at her until Miss MacLay and Miss Rosenberg can perform their teleportation spell.

At the end, Mr. Giles and Miss Summers inform Vi and Mr. Wyndham-Price of what they know about Glorificus, and of the "Key" she is trying to find. They do not, however, tell them who the Key is; they only know that it is somewhere in Sunnydale.

_**Crush:**_

Does not happen in any form.

_**I Was Made to Love You:**_

Happens with some minor differences.

Before the events of the episode, the Misses Summers have a talk, subject: Vi, the upshot of which is Miss Summers reassuring her younger sister that whether created or born, she is her sister and will protect her with her life.

"If it comes to that, can I have your room?" the younger woman asks, but immediately apologizes and says she has "been hanging around Xander too long."

"There are worse crimes," Miss Summers says.

In the meantime, Miss Summers and Vi have been sparring and patrolling, with and without their respective Watchers, and they are indeed getting along quite well. For all of Vi's chipper perkiness, she is completely serious about her duty. "Though I'm going to be like you, Buffy," she says. "I'm not going to give up living my life because of this."

"Good attitude," Miss Summers says. "'cause dying? Not the party you might have heard."

"Oh, don't worry," Vi says. "I plan on being around for a while."

["Oh, God."

"Yes, Miss Mars?" The Adversary asked.

"That's ironic dramatic foreshadowing if I ever heard it."

"Not everything has a dramatic echo."

"I'll believe it when I see it. Or when I don't see it."]

Miss MacLay is with Miss Chase when they meet April.

April later shows up at the party – Miss Chase is present and recognizes her, but there is no Spike to provoke her, so she simply continues to ask people where Warren is. After a few minutes Miss Chase goes over to Miss Summers and says, "I hate to break up you and whoever this is -"

"Ben," he said. "I'm an intern at Sunnydale General."

Miss Chase says, "A doctor? Moving up in the world from Army brats and the terminally pale, I see. Though still older guys. You really need to work on that. Anyway, I have some Sunnydale business to discuss with you." She raises her eyebrows meaningfully, and then when they are alone, she explains the odd feeling she receives from April.

Miss Summers trusts Miss Chase's judgment and follows April; after a few minutes and three more people approached. April notices her, a brief fight ensues, and Miss Summers is thrown into a wall; by the time she gets up, April has lost herself in a crowd.

Most of the remainder of the episode takes place as in the original timeline, except that Miss Summers enlists Vi's assistance and therefore the final battle ends sooner, and Mr. Mears leaves Sunnydale to return to college and pursue and attempt to apologize to Katrina.

Shortly thereafter Miss Summers and Vi enter Mr. Giles' house; as Mr. Wyndham-Price awkwardly leads Vi away for "training," Mr. Giles informs her that he just received a frantic call from Mrs. Echolls . . .

_**The Body:**_

Despite the change to the place of death and the discoverer of the body, there are no major differences. Quibbling over these details would be crass, and nothing of plot-shaking importance occurs.

_**Forever:**_

Happens with noteworthy changes. Though Mrs. Echolls extends her offer to stay, the younger Miss Summers decides she would rather be with family at the moment and moves back home.

Vi and Mr. Wyndham-Price agree to handle the regular business of patrolling the town for vampires.

You, Mr. Echolls, Miss Kelly, Mr. Osbourne and your father come to town for the funeral. Angel again shows up at sunset; so, shortly thereafter, does Riley Finn. The two of them nod as if to say that any issues they might have are being set aside for the moment, and Miss Summers and the two of them sit there and talk for quite a while.

The younger Miss Summers attempts to enlist first Miss MacLay and Miss Rosenberg, and then Miss Kelly (all of you are staying at Mrs. Echolls' house, at her insistence), but they all tell her the same thing, encapsulated in Miss Kelly's response: "'re kidding, right? I know your mom was one of the good ones, but this? ''mnot that crazy or that stupid. Bad idea. You won't get a person back. You'll get a zombie."

"Really?"

"Really," Miss Kelly says. "Wouldn't lie to you about this."

And the younger woman decides, at this point, to give up, and begins to cry, at which point Miss Kelly passes her off to your father.

Eventually both Misses Summers return to their home on Revello Drive; Miss Chase and Mr. Harris absent themselves from the area, and the two sisters sit down for a long talk.

_**Intervention:**_

Does not happen, for the most part; there is no "vision quest" and no robot. Glorificus, however, is still intent on finding one of the Slayer's friends and finding out where her Key is, and the minions focus on –

Wesley Wyndham-Price, due to one of the minions mishearing a critical piece of information. It is clear that they suspect the key to be "the young woman with you who has been spending so much time with the Slayer-" in other words, Vi.

Mr. Wyndham-Price is not his tough-as-nails incarnation from late-season _Angel_, but neither is he the stuffed-shirt barely effectual prig from the third season of _Buffy. _While he is not as inventive as Spike would have been under similar circumstances, he repeatedly tells her, "All I know about the Key is that you are looking for it and you think it's around here" until he passes out from the pain.

At this point, the hellgoddess decides that Mr. Wyndham-Price genuinely does not know more than this and decides to get rid of him. First she feeds – and then she tells the minions to find some "nice vampires" and give them the body to feed on.

As the minions are leaving, they run into Miss Summers, Vi, and a raiding party. Seeing Mr. Wyndham-Price in his current state, Vi angrily begins to disembowel minions left and right, while Miss Rosenberg and Miss MacLay keep the elevator open and Miss Summers and Mr. Giles get what happened out of a couple of them before Vi can slaughter them all.

Then, despite Vi's desire to immediately attack Glorificus, they retreat and regroup, and at the meeting that evening – having gotten some medicine for Mr. Wyndham-Price at the hospital – Miss Summers comes to a conclusion.

"She's going to attack everyone, here, until she gets what she wants. I trust all of you not to tell. But I can't have your lives at risk. Any of your lives. So here's what we're going to do. Anyone who's a noncombatant leaves town."

"That's pretty much just me and Dawn," Miss Chase says.

Miss Summers sighs. "Wrong. It's you, and Dawn, and Tara, and Wesley, and Xander -"

"Hey!" Mr. Harris says, while Miss MacLay nods in agreement.

"Let me finish. I was going to say, "And Xander, I'm going to put you in charge of keeping everyone safe -"

"Well, all right then," Mr. Harris says.

"Again, let me finish. Safe, until you make it to Angel."

"Oh."

"It's important," Miss Summers says. "I'm relying on you to keep Dawn safe."

"Do I get to say anything about this?" The younger Miss Summers says.

"Is that something, 'Yes, wonderful sister, I'll agree to do what you say because you're trying to keep me alive?"

"Not even close."

"Then, no. Xander, Tara: You have the available cars. Convoy it. Get packed and get back here in two hours."

After everyone but Vi, Mr. Giles, the Misses Summers and Ms. Calendar leave, Mr. Giles says, "While I approve of your motive, I wonder how we are to successfully fight Glorificus with our numbers significantly reduced."

"They won't be," Miss Summers says, "After I make a few calls."

_**Tough Love:**_

Does not happen as scripted, with the exception of Miss Summers being forced to drop out of college.

Mr. Harris, the younger Miss Summers, Ms. MacLay, Miss Chase and Mr. Wyndham-Price leave, though the younger Miss Summers is not particularly happy about it.

That leaves Mr. Giles, Ms. Calendar, Miss Rosenberg, Mr. Giles, and Vi. And Miss Summers herself. You and Mr. Echolls have been notified of what is occurring, but advised that you are to get involved only if "all hell breaks loose."

"Sunnydale, still, right?" you say. "So I guess I'd better make plans to be there in about ten minutes."

"Ha ha," Miss Summers says, and hangs up.

Some of the minions notice the two-car convoy leaving the area, but, as Miss Summers and Vi are watching, none of them make it back alive.

The Knights of Byzantium also notice, and send some of their members to chase after the departing. Not nearly as many as in the original timeline, however.

["I believe an 'oh, shit,' is called for," I said.

"Noted, Miss Mars."]

In the meantime, Miss Summers and Mr. Giles have made some phone calls and are otherwise busy planning assaults and defenses. Miss Rosenberg has set up alarms around Miss Summers' House, Mr. Giles' house, Mrs. Echolls' house, and the school – alarms that are to serve more to track Glorificus and mislead her than they are to protect the Slayer and her friends, for reasons you will soon see.

While Miss Summers and her friends are waiting for their reinforcements to arrive, Mr. Harris and his convoy are set upon by a Knights of Byzantium ambush when approaching Costa Mesa. They call Angel – and you are aware how badly things must be going if Mr. Harris voluntarily suggests phoning him – Miss Summers, and you, Miss Mars.

["What do they think I'm going to be able to do against men on horseback?" I asked.

"You have a taser by now," was his response.

"Oh, good. That's one one thousandth of a percent better,"

"Every infinitesimal bit helps, Miss Mars."]

They manage to escape by pulling into the parking lot of John Wayne Airport. The Knights have no desire for a public siege and break away when things get too public. There are scattered reports of men on horseback but nothing that reaches the local authorities.

The situation ends before Miss Summers can leave Sunnydale; Mr. Gunn and Mr. Doyle come down from Los Angeles to escort everyone to the Hyperion hotel. Everyone includes you and Mr. Echolls, Miss Mars, to your father's annoyance.

Back in Sunnydale, Miss Summers and her friends have gone to ground, taking whatever magical accoutrements they could find and retreating to the site of the former Initiative – not actually filled in with concrete – and leaving Ms. Mistwood as their eyes and ears, while they await their reinforcements and plan how they're going to take down a Hellgod.

Glorificus, frustrated at not being able to find hide nor hair of the Slayer or any of her friends, slaughters a minion or two before one of them brings in a Knight of Byzantium.

"So," the hellgod says, "Either you tell me what I want to know, or – well, actually, I'm going to kill you anyway; no point in lying to you. But how much it'll hurt, well, that's entirely up to you."

The Knight of Byzantium defies her, and Glorificus grins. "I was hoping you'd do something like that," she says.

The planning is still in its earlier stages when there is a knock at the hidden entrance to the Slayers' hideaway. After receiving a nod from Miss Rosenberg, Miss Summers opens it and finds –

her reinforcements. Riley Finn, complete with a handful of other former Initiative members, including Forrest Gates and Graham Miller.

And standing behind them, Daniel Osbourne.

In the meantime, Mr. Harris comes down the stairway at the Hyperion. "The Knights have caught up to us again," he says. "And this time they've come in force."

Angel says, "I know."

"You _know_?" Mr. Harris says. "Then why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"We're waiting for one thing," the vampire says.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Sunset."


	96. Divided Glory

I apologize – I reuse a gambit, to some extent, in this story that I have used elsewhere. But it made sense, in context, to have something similar, though not nearly identical, happen. You'll see why shortly.

And hi! I said I would finish this story. Only a couple of parts to go.

_**Spiral, The Weight of the World, The Gift:**_

Do not happen in any form.

["Shouldn't Angel and his friends be in Pylea right about now?"

"You asked not to be told about events that would have taken place on Angel."

After a moment of silence, I said, "And you're not going to tell me what happened to Fred Burkle, are you?"

"Not unless you wish her fate to be used when it comes to making the final judgment as to who wins the bet, Miss Mars."

That would be a no, then.]

Of course, the episode not happening does not mean that other things do not happen, to replace it.

In response to Angel's "Sunset," Mr. Harris says, "Really? You think you're enough to keep thirty or so Knights off your back all by yourself?"

"Fang ain't alone," Mr. Gunn says.

"No offense," Mr. Harris says, "But you're a badass, Angel's a badass, Mr. Mars is a badass, Tara can do a few things, Logan can hold his own, and I'm not completely incompetent -"

"Not _completely_ -" Miss Chase says.

"Ha ha," Mr. Harris says. "But Cordy's not capable of fighting off a Knight, Dawn's not getting within five hundred feet of the battle, I don't think Lily over there is going -"

"You'd be surprised," Lily Steele mutters.

"Veronica's badassery is unquestionable but she's not a fighter."

"Let me introduce you," you say, "To Mr. Taser."

"Okay," Mr. Harris says. "Now you're not a fighter, but you're armed. As for Doyle over there -"

"I'm a gambler. But in a siege I'll give it all I've got."

"Okay. So not _completely_ hopeless. But still -" Mr. Harris says, only to have Angel laugh. "And what's so funny, deadboy?"

"One, stop calling me deadboy. Two, you assumed I was waiting for sunset so I could go out there and kick their asses. That's not why I was waiting."

"Oh, really?"

"Watch and learn. Keith, Gunn, you're with me. Everyone else able to fight: Grab a weapon just in case this goes wrong. And keep an eye out."

Then the three go into the front courtyard of the Hyperion, where the two dozen Knights of Byzantium waiting there tense up. One of them steps forward and says, "One side, demonspawn. While our battle is not with you we will not hesitate to kill you should you interfere with our holy mission."

Angel grins. "I don't plan on raising a hand to you," he says. "Neither do my two friends here."

"Then you are wise. Brothers! Take the Key and kill her!"

"I didn't say you could go in," Angel said.

"Ignore him! He will do nothing to stop us."

"So, you're just going to ignore me when I tell you not to go into this building I own?" Angel asks.

The Knight, confused, says "Yes."

"That enough for you, Kate?"

"That's plenty," a voice comes from the darkness. "Stay where you are. Drop your weapons. You're all under arrest."

And, from behind the Knights come two dozen members of the LAPD, led by Captain Kate Lockley.

The Knights bluster and rattle their weapons but their field leader orders them to stand down. "We are, after all, entitled to one phone call," he said.

Captain Lockley takes this for the threat it is; Angel thanks her and heads back inside, where Mr. Harris says, "_That's_ why you were waiting for sunset? So you could call the cops?"

"Don't knock law enforcement, Xander," your father says. "It's a lot easier to sneak up on someone in the dark."

Angel makes preparations to get everyone out of there to a safe location.

In the meantime, in Sunnydale, Miss Summers and her friends have long since cleared out the handful of demons still remaining in the Initiative's former headquarters. Mr. Finn and his friends – he brought a half dozen former Initiative members, all willing to do him or Miss Summers a favor – have, after being properly appalled that their former headquarters was not in fact filled in, settled in to plan an assault on Glorificus. The Initiative members have brought light weaponry but no rocket launchers.

They make the case that they know, through experience, which demons can be taken down with bullets, and which will simply be annoyed. And minions appear not to have any special protection anyway.

Mr. Osbourne and Mr. Miller, Glorificus and her followers being unfamiliar with them, are conducting scouting operations. On one of these operations they notice someone besides one of the minions going in to see Glorificus.

["Doc," I said.

"You can stop trying to impress me with your predictive skills, Miss Mars," The Adversary said.

"You think _any _of this has been about trying to impress you?"

"I think every single moment has been about trying to impress me."

"Then you and me have wildly different meanings for the word 'impress.''

"Entirely possible. May I continue?"]

Indeed, it is the demonic sorcerer himself. They watch him enter, and then leave, and they kidnap one of the minions and bring him back to their own headquarters to find out who he is. Having learned their lesson from you, though, the torture they put the minion through is far more psychological than physical, and ultimately they learn who he is – and that he is the only such follower of Glorificus in town.

"Good to know. Graham? You and Oz mind tracking down his home base? No point in attacking him when he's with Glory. We're going to pick off as many of her supporters as possible before we make our final assault. A minion's a minion, but he sounds big-time by comparison. Willow? You, Ms. Calendar and Giles stick here to research spells. The rest of us are going hunting."

Back in Los Angeles, Angel has taken everyone to a backup hideout.

[The Adversary stopped and looked at me for a second. I gave a "who, me?" gesture and he went back to his recitation.

Of course, if he wasn't about to say "Caritas," I'd eat the hat I wasn't wearing.]

Caritas. Of course, the spell of protection is in place, but that only affects Angel, and possibly Miss MacLay – and the Knights of Byzantium won't know any of this. It is also safer because the Hyperion Hotel is in an area where the Knights could sneak their horses, after dark. Caritas is entered via a back alley. A back alley frequented by quite a number of demons and other supernatural creatures, not all of whom share Angel's distaste for killing.

If you are interested in where Wolfram and Hart is in all of this, incidentally, they saw that the Knights of Byzantium were in town, figured out that Glorificus was involved somewhere, and have for the moment backed away from causing trouble for Angel and his friends. They have no particular desire to see the consequences of the hellgoddess' return to her home dimension any more than either Miss Summers does, and are not interested in seeing how Miss Summers reacts if they should be the ones to kill her sister. Or, for that matter, how Glorificus would react.

The Knights, as anticipated, used their one phone call to contact the remainder of their order, who are currently breaking landspeed records to get to Los Angeles; they are, rather intelligently, leaving their horses behind.

The younger Miss Summers has an epiphany the first night everyone hides out at Caritas. She runs to tell Angel to tell her sister, now what is it, it is right on the tip of her tongue . . .

"Oh! Ben is Glory! You have to tell Buffy!"

The spell keeping them separate, of course, is beginning to fall apart. Puzzled, Angel nonetheless agrees to place the phone call to placate the younger woman.

The phone call comes in to Miss Rosenberg's cell phone; Angel is frustrated when it takes five minutes to get Miss Rosenberg to understand the message, but comes to realize that there is some kind of magic at work.

Having written down the message, Miss Rosenberg passes it on to Ms. Calendar and Mr. Giles, who write it down to remind themselves. Miss Rosenberg writes it on her arm. They have come up with a way, working together, of restoring structure to Glorificus' victims. In terms of weaponry, they have the Dagon Sphere, but no Buffybot and no troll hammer. The research suggests that the bullet weapons will not kill the hellgoddess, but should prove to at least do some damage.

While Ms. Calendar contacts Ms. Mistwood to see if she has any access to powerful magical weaponry. Miss Rosenberg and Mr. Giles, with some difficulty, have a discussion about whether to kill Ben the next time they get the chance.

"Would killing Ben kill, um, Glory?" Miss Rosenberg asks.

"Quite probably," Mr. Giles says. "There is a small possibility that it could simply – release her, as it were."

"I'm guessing, not a chance we want to be taking."

"No."

"Why are you bringing this up with me?"

"Because neither Buffy nor Violet would be capable of killing – Ben – who from all we know is an innocent in all of this."

"And you think I could just casually kill someone?"

Mr. Giles shakes his head. "Not in the least. But I do think you _would_, to protect those you love from having to do it. As would I."

Miss Rosenberg reluctantly acknowledges the point.

In the meantime, Miss Summers, Vi, Mr. Osbourne and the various Initiative members have tracked down and killed several minions and are currently staking out Doc's home in rotation. Having watched him for a day, they are now aware of his powers and demonic nature and have decided not to bother with trying to interrogate him. The next available opportunity to kill him occurs when Vi and Mr. Gates are watching him. Using a crossbow, Vi tries first and hits him in the chest – where the heart would be, were he human.

He is not killed, though he is injured and knocked back, and Vi ducks from sight as Doc stares in her direction. More rapidly than either of them would have believed possible, he sprints towards her position. While darting away, Vi has reloaded her crossbow, and fires again, aiming at his head this time, as he gets closer. He manages to partially dodge the bolt; it grazes his shoulder. He lashes out his tongue and knocks the crossbow from her hands.

This startles them both; their surveillance had not revealed the tongue. But Doc, angry and concentrating on Vi, has not noticed Mr. Gates, who is armed with weaponry considerably more advanced than a crossbow. Vi dives to the ground as Mr. Gates fires his rifle three times, hitting Doc twice in the head and once in the neck.

These injuries do prove fatal. Vi takes hold of the demon's corpse and she and Mr. Gates beat a hasty retreat, as while violence is a fact of life in Sunnydale, gunfire typically is not.

In her sanctuary, Glorificus is starting to get annoyed. Not only are the barriers between her and Ben beginning to break down, but her followers are being killed. Not that she cares about them, directly, but they _do_ do things for her she would otherwise have to do herself.

It will be twelve hours – the middle of the day tomorrow – before she discovers his death.

["And then wackiness ensues?"

"In a matter of speaking."]

Back in Los Angeles, the remainder of the Knights of Byzantium have hit town; one of Glorificus' minions noticed them leaving, but has not so far been able to inform Glorificus herself. Angel and your father, with some discreet assistance from Captain Lockley and her squad, have kept an eye on them; just because they are not riding their horses, for the most part, does not mean that they are difficult to spot. Subtlety is not their strong point.

Still, once they dispatch a street gang unwise enough to attempt to mug them, they are given a wide berth.

Mr. Wyndham-Price is making attempts to leave and return to Sunnydale; he is quite easily subdued. He does notice the "green energy" coming out of Dawn, but as everyone but Lorne has been informed of the basics of the situation, and Glorificus is nowhere in the vicinity, this does not have the ramifications it did in the original timeline.

At this point, Angel has a plan and, after calling Miss Summers, returns to Caritas to ask if Miss MacLay knows a spell that will change her hair color. She tells him she does, at which point Angel gathers everyone together and tells them he has a plan: They're going to lure the Knights of Byzantium away from Caritas.

"Fine by me, Angel-cakes," Lorne tells him. "No problem having you take refuge here but the spell of protection would put you at a _serious_ disadvantage if the Knights came in. It doesn't do anything to stop humans from being violent."

"You might want to look into fixing that loophole," Angel says. "In the meantime, Keith, I need you to make a couple of disguises for us."

"I do not 'make disguises,' Angel. I set up personas."

"Okay. This time, I need you to make disguises and _not_ set up personas. We want to look like we're trying to hide -"

"Like we're trying to be inconspicuous. If we just walk out of here, they'll get suspicious and hold back. We want them not to hold back. On it." You move to help your father.

In Sunnydale, having driven most of the minions to ground – any who poke their heads out do so at peril to their lives, not that they hesitate to do so for the sake of the Divine Glorificus – Miss Summers and her allies are making their final preparations to assault Glorificus. Mr. Giles has informed Mr. Finn, Mr. Miller and Mr. Gates that "Glory is Ben" as well. They are prepared to kill Ben, if necessary.

They would rather not, as well. But killing one person to save a world is well within their capabilities. And they all know that when Glorificus dies, Ben will die anyway.

Shortly before noon the next day, everyone makes their way to Glorificus' residence. Ms. Mistwood has procured for Ms. Summers a mace that, while she does not guarantee its efficacy against a God, is the item she has most likely to cause such a being pain. Ms. Rosenberg has a spell or two in reserve. Mr. Finn and his friends have their weapons.

Mr. Giles has a chainsaw, and another item, he is prepared to use if he must.

Mr. Osbourne has no weapons. Mr. Osbourne needs no weapons.

They have already been to the tower, attracted by the large number of her victims who were there. While there, they have disposed of more of her minions.

The hellgoddess still has more, but the number is not unlimited and Miss Summers' willingness to summarily kill them has some of them a bit hesitant. Upon hearing of the problems, she gathers all the followers she has and makes her way to the tower as swiftly as possible. The two groups miss each other, Glorificus leaving in one direction shortly before "the good guys" arrive from another.

In Los Angeles, Angel, your father, and Miss MacLay, with hair the color of the younger Miss Summers, have made their way out of a Caritas back entrance, making just enough noise to assure they have been seen and heard. As expected, the Knights follow them.

Most of the Knights, anyway.

Angel and company sneak through the darkened Los Angeles streets for as long as they can before the pursuit becomes too obvious to ignore. Then they break into a dead run, the Knights charging after them at full speed . . .

until they run through a darkened alley, with the Knights following. When they run out the other end, the Los Angeles Police Department is waiting for them.

This time, some of them refuse to go down without a fight, but armor and swords are not a match for bullets.

Angel and your father have assisted in the capture of some of the Knights; Angel says, "I can't believe they were dumb enough to fall for this twice."

"Angel, they're full-blown armored knights about six centuries too late," your father says. "That doesn't speak highly of their ability to deal with change."

And with that, they head back to Caritas.

Meanwhile, back at the bar, the handful of Knights who abstained from following the trail laid down by Angel, your father and Miss MacLay wait a couple of minutes and then come into the bar. Lorne calls out a warning and then ducks behind the bar.

You, Mr. Harris, Mr. Gunn and Mr. Doyle come out. Miss Steele stays behind with the younger Miss Summers.

"That spell?" Mr. Harris calls out.

"Only works against non-humans," Lorne says. "But -"

"Well, shit," Mr. Gunn says.

"Give us the girl," one of the knights says.

"What girl?" Mr. Doyle asks. "Lorne, lad: you seen a girl around anywhere?"

Before the expatriate Pylean can answer, a knight says, "Do not bluff us."

You say, "Oh. _That_ girl. Nope. Not here. I'm the only girl here."

"Enough," one of the knights says, drawing his sword.

Before the fight can begin, Lorne sings a high-pitched note, and everyone in the room except for him collapses to the barroom floor, unconscious.

He looks down, shakes his head, and begins to disarm the felled knights.

Back in Sunnydale, matters are coming to a head. Glorificus, in her departure from her abode, was not precisely subtle.

["When is she ever?" I asked.

The Adversary said, "Indeed. Glorificus makes Faith, in either universe, appear positively Machiavellian."]

So, as you may imagine, it does not precisely require a Sherlock Holmes to follow the trail she left. They arrive at the tower and are greeted by an unhappy hellgoddess and a number of minions.

And, to make a long story short –

[We passed too late for that a couple of states back.]

– The "good guys" win. Vi cuts a swath of destruction through the minions, dealing with them practically single-handedly. The Initiative soldiers cut down any who manage to make it past her. Glorificus, though, is weakened, angry, and has almost no idea what has been going on around her, but even in this state she is capable of dealing tremendous damage. Mr. Gates is killed, Miss Summers knocked unconscious (after doing significant damage with the mace Ms. Mistwood procured for her), and one of the other Initiative soldiers fed upon by the hellgoddess mid-battle, so Mr. Giles is forced to bring out his emergency weapon:

The Wand of Toth.

Glorificus is caught by surprise and the wand does its work, splitting her into Ben and Glorificus. Mr. Osbourne attacks, serving as a distraction, while Mr. Giles says, "I'm sorry."

Ben appears to understand, and before Glorificus can react, Mr. Miller shoots him.

Glorificus suddenly stops, throws Mr. Osbourne off, screams "No!" and steps forward.

She is stopped by Miss Summers' hand around her ankle. The hellgoddess says, "Let go!" and begins to stomp on Miss Summers' wrist.

Then Mr. Finn delivers the coup de grace to Ben, shooting him in the head. Glorificus dies before she can complete the step.

This season's apocalypse is over.

_**The Summer Between Seasons 5 and 6:**_

After everyone -

X X X X X

"Hold it," I said.

"Yes, Miss Mars?" the Adversary said.

"I've been thinking."

"Commendable. So few of your kind bother to do that very much."

I said, ignoring his gibe, "And I'd like you to hear me out."

"Of course," he said.

"Now, season 5 ended without either Buffy or Dawn having to die to close a portal – because things never got so far that the portal was ever in danger of being open. Right?"

"Correct."

"Which meant that Willow was never tempted to use the dangerous resurrection spell that she used in the original timeline in _Bargaining_. Right?"

"Correct."

"Of course, it's possible that even if Buffy had died, that she might have decided not to use it anyway, because Ms. Calendar's still alive, and Rae Mistwood helped her out at the beginning, and so her forays into the dark side of magic have been fewer and farther between. At least I'm assuming, because if they hadn't been I'd think that would be a plot point you would gleefully throw in my face."

"I would not 'gleefully throw it in your face,' Miss Mars," the Adversary said. "But your main point is accurate: I would have told you had things gotten worse, or even remained the same. The condition was improvement. And Miss Rosenberg's attitude towards magic was definitely improved. While she would have been tempted, I believe, to bring Miss Summers back to life, she would have refrained from doing it. She has gazed into the darkness; she has not leapt forward into it." Good to know.

"Anyway," I said. "My point holds. No one would have been tempted to resurrect Buffy because there was no call to do so."

"Correct."

"And no resurrection means no glitch in the Slayer line, no throwing off the balance between good and evil – in short, no window for the First, right?"

"Again, correct."

I smiled. "Well, then. I think I've made my point."

Almost impatiently, the Adversary said, "And, Miss Mars, that point is . . . what?"

"It should be obvious by now, but I'll spell it out if it isn't. Yes, bad things have happened. Anyanka's still on the loose. Amy Madison is dead. Snyder is still alive. Joyce still died; Cordelia's parents still went to prison; the Initiative was decimated, worse than before. Wesley was mentally drained. Kendra is still dead. Faith is dead. Now let's balance that out, okay? Ms. Calendar is alive and married to Giles. Xander and Cordelia are engaged, even though Cordelia is a paraplegic. Willow's better with magic. Sheila's still alive. Vi is now a Slayer; Wesley is less of a useless fop.Larry and Harmony are still alive. Angelus has never come out to play, and probably never will. Spike and Drusilla are dead. Riley and Oz, while still having left, are not alienated the way they were in the original timeline. Rae Mistwood is still alive. Buffy didn't die a second time. So, think about that. This is what puts this over the top:" I began to tick off on my fingers. "No death; no resurrection; no First Evil showing up in season seven; no army of Turok-Han waiting to boil into the streets; no destruction of Sunnydale. All of which, it would seem to me, would indicate one thing."

"And that would be?"

"_I win_."


	97. What have we learned, Charlie Brown?

The words hung in the air for what could have been seconds, or centuries. Subjectively speaking, of course; the rest of the universe was frozen, and stayed frozen, while the Adversary and I sat there and looked at each other.

I took a couple of sips of my soda. The Adversary wasn't impressed.

"Are you sure?" he finally asked.

"I just went through it," I said. "I've been thinking about this for about as long as we've been sitting here, going through the summary. The game wouldn't be over without the score being tilted enough in one direction or the other to make a decision."

"The game could have been timed."

"Really?" I said, not bothering to disguise my sarcasm. (The judgment had already been made. The votes were in. Assuming the Adversary plays fair – and I have to assume that, because if he's just been jerking me around, with the power he's got there's nothing I, Buffy, or the combined forces of the Justice League, the Avengers and every last damn Jedi George Lucas ever put on the screen could do about it – whether I'm sarcastic or polite as Miss Manners isn't going to do a damn bit of good or harm.) "Really?" I repeated. "So it's mere coincidence that the clock ran out seconds after Drusilla was finally killed? I find that hard to believe."

Smiling slightly, he said, "As well you might, Miss Mars. You are correct. For all of my baseball analogies, the 'game' was not going to end until the matter of your triumph or defeat was settled one way or the other."

"And I went out on an up note." I didn't phrase it as a question, because it wasn't one.

"So you did."

More silence. Finally, I prompted, "And . . .?"

"Why the rush, Miss Mars? Do you have a bus to catch?"

"Yeah, I'm heading to Vegas. I figure if I can beat you, I can beat anyone."

"The eggs have not yet hatched."

"The magpie lands at midnight." If knew what he meant, but if he was going to talk like spy code, then so was I. I was counting my chickens before, etc, etc.

"You," he said, "Are perfectly aware of what I mean."

"Yup. You're telling me not to count on a victory that hasn't been granted yet."

"Plus, I have two complete seasons left to go."

"I waive my rights," I said.

"You are not under arrest," the Adversary said mildly.

With deliberate mimicry, I said, "You are perfectly aware of what I mean."

"Yes, I am," he said. "There is a lot more to come. Ups and down, twists and turns – all of which may very well count against you."

"Is the outcome going to be any different whether I hear the summary or not?"

"No."

"Then, once again, I waive my rights."

A brief pause, then, "As you wish, Miss Mars. Request granted. Still, though we will not relive seasons six and seven, they still have bearing on my final judgment, so I am going to have to discuss them to some degree."

Shrugging, I said, "I really wasn't expecting anything else. Discuss away." To note, I'm not nearly as confident and cocky as I sound. But, really, there's no point in sounding tentative. I probably did miss a few things –

_But I am confident that I haven't missed enough to cause me to lose the bet._

"That was a heated summary you gave, but one that was largely accurate," he began. "As you are neither omnipotent nor omniscient, though, you did not take absolutely everything into account."

"I figured as much," I said.

"The first thing you missed is that the magic-addicting sorcerer Rack makes his return to Sunnydale in season 6."

Right. I _had_ forgotten that one. True, it wasn't one of my prouder moments in this revisionist timeline, but that's really no excuse.

"The second thing is that the 'trio of doom' is also about to make their appearance."

I said, "Actually, no. That one I didn't forget. I went by the possibly logical assumption that, under the circumstances, they would be less of a hassle."

"Ah. So you wrote them off."

"Yup," I said.

"You did so prematurely." Of course I did. "Also, there is the fate of Mr. Wyndham-Price and Glorificus' other victims. They were not automatically cured by her death."

Crap. _That_ I hadn't thought of at all, either. Still, in for a penny and all that. "So, count the damage," I said.

"First, to Rack. While you may not have factored him in, he indeed does not play nearly as much of a role in the retooled sixth season. Miss Summers and her friends have long memories, and Rack is somewhat overconfident in his ability to stay hidden. He successfully addicts other users of magic, but none in the Slayer's immediate circle. Eventually, they track him down and Misses Rosenberg, MacLay and Kelly successfully destroy his extra-dimensional parlor and detox his clientele. Rack himself is given bus fare out of town and is promised that, should he return to his former occupation or anything even close to it, that his lifespan thereafter would be measured in nanoseconds." Buffy would have botched the word, so I'm guessing Willow made the threat. And coming from her, even in this universe, it's probably true.

"And Larry, Moe, and Curly?" I asked.

"You insult the Three Stooges by the comparison," the Adversary said. "Still, they are a presence."

"So I'd guess that Warren wasn't successful at getting back with Katrina?" Not that this surprised me; considering that he'd most likely raped me, and had sure as hell raped Katrina in the original timeline, that he had managed to attract a woman as levelheaded as Katrina in the first place without the intervention of either a magic gem or intoxicants was little short of a Biblical miracle.

"No. And for a while the season progresses similarly, except Miss Summers is not distracted by a sojourn in heaven or the fervent desire to feel something. But after the murder of Miss Silber and the failed attempt to blame it on Miss Summers, things accelerate much more quickly. Miss Rosenberg tracks the three down and a fight ensues, with Mr. Wells and Mr. Levinson captured and Mr. Mears escaping; and again, as in the original timeline, he comes back with a gun while the majority of characters are in the Magic shop. He fires four times. Two of the shots hit: One the elder Miss Summers, one Mr. Harris. Miss MacLay restrains Miss Rosenberg from going after Mr. Mears, but Vi is not so restrained. She chases him, catches him, and pummels him, but turns him over to Sheriff Lamb when he arrives."

Hold it. "_Don_ _Lamb_ is still in charge of the Sunnydale police department?"

"With no one but the Kanes left to suck up to – The widow Echolls having made it very clear that she wants fair treatment – he has proven competent, if not more than that," the Adversary said. "All three members are tried and convicted and are sent to prison for a minimum of twelve years. Miss Summers suffered a punctured lung but made a full recovery; Mr. Harris lost –

"An eye?"

"Poetic and ironic though that would be, things rarely actually play out as though plotted. And, in any event, if Mr. Harris had been shot through the eye, the bullet would have gone through and killed him. Instead, the bullet tore off most of his left ear."

Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch. And no such thing as an earpatch, either. Still -"So not great, but still somewhat better than the original timeline?"

"Yes."

So far, so good. I wasn't going to read too much into that, though. And I wasn't exactly jumping for joy over Buffy's lung, or Xander's mutilation, so don't think that 'so far, so good,' means I don't care. Because I do.

Remember, Veronica Mars: Marshmallow. Everyone says so.

"And Wesley and the rest of Glory's meals?" I asked.

"Ah. There . . . you fare less well. In the original timeline, Miss Rosenberg, to cure Miss MacLay's delirium, developed a spell to drain Glorificus of the mental structures she had fed upon. In this accelerated, revised history, that was not the case. While they, plus Ms. Kelly, Ms. Mistwood and Ms. Calendar search for and eventually find the cure for the condition of the afflicted, it turns out to be the same cure as that in the original timeline. And with no Glorificus alive to use as a resource, there is no way to cure the victims. No way, I must emend, that would not involve draining other sane beings of their mental structures, and that is beyond the pale for all five. And, for that matter, for everyone else involved, including young Violet, whose chipper disposition is distinctly more strained."

"That's against me."

"Most definitely."

"I still win." Like I said: I'll be damned if I'm going to concede anything.

"That still remains to be seen." Me? Expecting no other answer there.

"Season 7?"

"Indeed."

Okay. Rubber, meet road. "I'm not wrong about my theory about the First."

"Are you sure of that?" he said. "Miss Mars, are you absolutely, one hundred percent confident, beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt, that your theory is correct? Could the First not have simply needed five and a half years or so to have the time to sufficiently build up its organization and find someone to empower who so closely embodied its viewpoint as did the "Reverend" Caleb? Are you completely and and utterly certain?"

Of course not, with a side of "hell no." Still. I'd learned one thing, at least: Not to succumb to paralysis by analysis. So, flip the cards over, Veronica.

"Of course not. With a side of hell, no. But that's my thinking and I'm not going to change it now."

"Even were I to offer you an out?"

Did I hear that right. "Sorry, what?"

"An out, Miss Mars. What they refer to in blackjack as 'surrender. We will stop here and declare the bet null and void."

All this for nothing? I don't think so. The Adversary did not put me through the last two and a half months of a reasonable approximation of hell just to say 'status quo.' Somehow I get the impression that if I accepted the 'surrender,' I would actually lose the bet. The Adversary was either counting upon me to be so afraid of losing that I'd grasp at any thin life line to get out of it, or, more probably, to be so suspicious of the offer that I'd assume he was trying to get me to think I'd won, and, assuming I'd actually lost from the transparency of the ploy, back off.

I wasn't going to play that game, though. No overanalyzing. But no underanalyzing, either. "No deal."

"Very well. As for the First – whether you are correct or not, it must be admitted that it still has some power, else it would not have been able to attempt to manipulate Angel."

"Granted," I said.

"So even should your line of reasoning be accurate, it would be able to, at the very least, make a try at unleashing the army of Turok-Han."

"Yup." He wasn't telling me anything that wasn't already blindingly obvious. "But with less power, comes less invincibility."

"With less power," the Adversary reiterated. "So the question remains whether the First is underpowered."

"I've given you my reasons," I said. "And unlike you, I'm neither omniscient nor omnipotent. You want the question answered, you're going to have to do it yourself."

"Very well. Miss Mars, your theory is right."

_Yes._

"Still, I have this sneaking suspicion that the next word's going to be 'but.'"

A slight smile. "You are incorrect. However -" Close enough – "The First, under these circumstances, still attempts its grand plan, despite its reduced powers. Potentials and Watchers still die – although fewer. The Watchers' Council headquarters is still demolished. Potentials and Watchers flock to Sunnydale, where the First's plans are altered but still manage to bring about the release of one Turok-Han. After that battle – Vi and Miss Summers working together manage to defeat it – Miss Summers once again calls in favors and the group wipes out as many Bringers as they possibly can. No powered Caleb means that this is a losing battle for the Bringers. Then, deliberately keeping Angel and Miss Summers out of the loop, Miss Rosenberg manages, with assistance from practically everyone, to close the gateway that Miss Summers' first resurrection had opened."

"So . . . to my favor?"

"Yes."

"So . . . I win?"

A nod of the head. "Yes. You do. The test is complete."

I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

Hell, I'd been holding this breath since the moment it became clear exactly what the bet entailed. This wasn't the thrill of victory (though it was a lot better than the agony of defeat), this was, simply, relief.

I took another deep breath and let it out, slowly.

"So, what have we learned, Charlie Brown?" I asked.

"Learned?" He asked.

"Disingenuousness? Really?"

The Adversary said, "Then let me turn the question back on you: What have you learned?"

"Never to say the words 'I bet' again."

"Is that all?"

"That I can take on beings who for all intents and purposes are one notch below God and kick their behinds?"

"Be serious, Miss Mars." I sensed that perhaps the time for my patented sarcastic commentary was rapidly drawing to a close.

"Okay. Let me think." After a pause, I said, "But I meant what I said about 'I bet'." No response. Can't honestly say that surprised me. "The only things I can think of are those I already knew. Don't go on tilt when you're ticked off. Don't overanalyze. My instincts aren't perfect, and sometimes, neither is my reasoning. You wanted me to pick up something else? Because those points were driven home with a sledgehammer."

"True," he said, "But those lessons, while they should serve you well, were not the lessons intended."

"Okay," I said. "Give me a moment." I thought, but couldn't come up with anything. I admitted as much.

"I am slightly disappointed, Miss Mars, but not entirely surprised."

"Hey!" I interjected with some irritation.

"No insult was intended. Your entire interaction with me has been one of negativity, so it is only natural that you would make the logical assumption that I was trying to teach you about a flaw of yours. This is not the case. You are aware of most of your flaws. You do not always manage to stay away from them, but such is the nature of life for most of the sentient beings I have ever encountered. Job, if you remember, was a pious man before he was tested, and stayed so, despite the exhortations of his friends."

Wait a minute. "I thought you told me that Job was fiction."

And for the first time in what I believe to be ever, the Adversary's smile was broad. "Five words, Miss Mars."

I counted on my fingers. "Out for a walk – bitch"?

"No. 'Based on a true story'."

And that was the point at which I lost it. I burst out laughing.

All that tension I'd been under? Finally released. Enough of it, anyway. I'd been carrying the weight of two universes on my back, give or take, for three months.

The Adversary let me laugh myself out, which for all I knew could have taken decades. But once I was finally back under control, he said, "Miss Mars, are you quite finished?"

Still chuckling, I said, "Yeah, I think so."

"Good. Pleased as I am to have given you the opportunity for such amusement, we still have some business left to attend to."

"Hold on one second. I have a question," I said. "So you are in fact _that_ Satan?"

"I loathe that name," he said. "Because it has become associated with the figure of ultimate evil in the Christian religion, and I am not evil. Strictly speaking, it is not even a name; it is my title. I have no name, nor do I want one. 'Adversary' is sufficient." He paused a second and then said, "In any event, before your outburst of laughter, we were discussing what the point of the bet was. Remember, Job was tested on his strength: his faithfulness to God. You have been tested on your strength, as well."

"Snarky comments?" Look at me, all self-referential.

"No, though had that been the test you would have passed with flying colors. This test was about exactly what it seemed to be about: You were given a nearly impossible task, weighed down by restrictions, and, in essence, thrown into the deep end of the pool, with no preassigned assistance from me or anyone, other than the occasional cryptic hint, _and you succeeded_. You proved you could do it. If there is a lesson to be learned here, it is simply that you are capable." Then he added, "In any event, I am the Tester, the Prosecutor. Not the teacher. Any lessons learned are nice, but entirely beside the point."

"So it really was a simple bet." Not exactly a hard pill to swallow, but certainly a weird one.

"Simple being a relative term, yes, it was. And as a bet, there were stakes. So, Miss Mars: One request granted from me, a 'being who for all intents and purposes are one notch below God.' Name your reward."

This was the one thing I'd known since ever since my wonderful voyage of discovery began. And yes, it's the obvious thing.

Lilly.

Yes, she wasn't perfect; she cheated on Logan, she dated Weevil, she slept with Aaron. Yes, her death made me the woman I am today. But she wasn't some plot-convenient catalyst; she was my friend. And, growth be damned, everything be damned, I would give all of that up in a heartbeat to get her back.

But I opened my mouth to say it – and something stopped me.

What? It wasn't that I couldn't talk – I could hum, sing, whistle, and recite the Pledge of Allegiance, much to the Adversary's amusement, but something was holding me back from claiming my reward.

What was it?

Okay, Veronica. Time to think. One last challenge. I say "I want Lilly Kane alive again," and what happens?

Lilly lives. So, she was never murdered, so that changes the universe. I already knew that. It would change me.

It would change everyone.

Well, okay, not _literally_ everyone; I doubt President Bush or Dolly Parton would be affected all that much by whether Lilly lived or died, but it would change more than just me and those immediately around me. The ripple would die out eventually, but where, and when, and whether it would be for the better or worse were _things I could not possibly know_.

I'd just spent three months, with an aircraft carrier's worth of foreknowledge, and I, as near as I could tell, had barely squeaked out a win. No foreknowledge? Kind of not going to guarantee that'll come out well.

And –

hold on.

I'm worried about my universe, and with good reason, but –

_What about this universe_? I asked the Adversary as much.

"This universe is here solely for the purposes of our wager. Once the wager is complete, the universe reverts to its original path."

So whatever I did, whatever I asked for, this universe would turn out worse.

Jenny Calendar would die. Drusilla would live. Cordelia would die.

Sheila would die.

And the thing is, I'm not a god. Not even close. These were not my puppets; they were not here for my amusement.

"And what about my home timeline? Should I decide to use my wish and go elsewhere?"

"Elsewhere?"

"The _Star Trek _Universe. Narnia. _General Hospital_. Does it matter exactly where?"

Back to the slight smile. "I suppose not. Miss Mars, you were taken from 'between moments," as it were. Those moments will continue."

"So I disappear?"

"No. You will still be there. Removing you from your home timeline was never part of our wager."

"Two mes?"

"An infinity of yous, Miss Mars. Some where you traveled with your mother instead of remaining in Neptune. Some where you and Miss Summers were best friends until she left Neptune and she returns there after sending Angel to hell. Some where your father is too late to save Aaron Echolls from the vengeful waitress. Some where you and yours are merged with the _Firefly_ universe. Some where you travel with the Doctor."

"Doctor who?" I asked.

"Exactly. So one more you is hardly a burden."

Burden on whom, I was tempted to ask. I didn't. No point in drifting off on tangents now.

One thing was clear, though. I couldn't simply ask for Lilly back. That would destroy one universe and do no one knew what to my own.

Making a wish? Not as easy as you think.

"The reward's as big a responsibility as the bet," I said.

"Indeed, Miss Mars. It would be substantially less enjoyable wagering with someone whose answer would be 'a billion dollars' or 'immortality.' You, on the other hand, have a much greater sense of responsibility. You will not make your request until you are as certain as you can be about the effects."

"And before this started, if you'd shown up and granted me a wish, I would have wished for Lilly in a second." After a second, I said, "Damn it. There's the lesson."

"Perhaps. But regardless, Miss Mars, you do still have that request coming."

Somehow I didn't get the impression the Adversary was going to be one of those literal genies.

Okay. I had it. I knew what I wanted.

I can sum it up in two words:

_Epimetheus unbound_.


	98. Universe Three

Author's note: And, finally, the long- (no freaking kidding)- awaited conclusion.

Also: I'm going back and fixing a few things from earlier in the story. Correcting a few typos, fixing a mistake or two. Nothing major. But if it's not quite exactly the way you may remember the first time around, that's why.

X X X X X

**Take One:**

"The guy who _created the show_ doesn't know everything?" Mac said.

"Not everything," I said.

"You think you could've run it better?"

I said, "Knowing what I know now? Damn right I could. I bet I could. Stick me in at any point and I'd have things better like that." I snapped my fingers.

Things blurred for a second.

When I got my bearings, Mac responded with "Sure. Of course you could. But that'd be easy. Hell, _Wallace_ could do it." Apparently she hadn't noticed anything.

"On the off chance you ladies forgot," Wallace said, "I _am_ still in the room." Okay, neither had Wallace.

"No offense, but I meant that you know maybe one-tenth of what Veronica and I do about the Buffyverse, and even you could probably change things for the better. Not really much of a wager there."

I said, "You really think so, huh?" Well, if neither Mac nor Wallace had noticed anything, then there probably wasn't anything to notice. Must've been a trick of the light, or lack of sleep.

I know what you're thinking: Veronica Mars? Lack of sleep? Surely she can't be serious!

Sorry to disillusion you, but the glamorous life of a detective? Not always conducive to a healthy eight hours.

Anyway, I was talking to Mac: "I'll tell you what, then. Next chance you or I get to run a fictional universe, we'll take it and then we'll see how easy it is. Deal?"

"You got yourself a deal, Mars."

We got back to our marathon.

X X X X X

**Take Two:**

Logan was bent over his father; Lynn walked tentatively in the house behind me. Seeing Aaron, she said, "Is he – dead?"

"As a doornail," Logan said, in a flat tone.

Xander said, "Sorry about this." And I'm sure he was, given that now it would be a lot harder to prove that Aaron had killed Lilly.

Lynn apparently didn't know what to feel; she said, "We need to call the police. Right?"

Sheila said, "In Sunnydale? Lamb'll show up, see me, Xander and the manhunter over there, and throw us all in jail till we're thirty. 'sabad idea."

"Not with mother and me telling them what really happened," Logan said.

"Logan -" I began.

"Not the truth, Veronica. You've known me long enough to know I would never dream of attempting to enlighten our poor sheriff. His brain would probably explode. Mother? Are you up for a convincing lie?"

Lynn nodded, somewhat distractedly. "Yes. Of course. No one's going to believe – what was that, Veronica?"

"That was a vampire."

"Oh. Okay. Sure." She didn't seem so much blasé as in shock, but the events of the last twenty minutes or so would've probably given Batman pause, so her being still upright and even halfway functional was pretty impressive, considering she knew none of this half an hour ago. Logan, at least, had known about vampires, which is why he was no doubt postponing any emotional moments until after the current crisis was past.

"Good. Story straight, then?" Everyone nodded. "Okay, Logan, you call the cops. I'll call Buffy to clue her in – and then we should probably try to track down Rae."

The calls were made; Logan and Lynn spun convincing lies about a Drusilla-like madwoman, probably some deranged fan like the waitress at the Christmas party, who'd broken in, held us all hostage, killed Aaron and attacked some of the rest of us before going out the back door and disappearing.

Everything went perfectly.

At least until Dad showed up and wondered exactly what the hell I was doing there in the first place.

X X X X X

I know: What's going on? What reward did I get from the Adversary? Which one of the Veronicas above is the real me?

Patience, grasshopper. All will be revealed in time.

That time being now.

To start with, Epimetheus Unbound is a reference to an old Greek play called _Prometheus Unbound_ – part of a trilogy by Aeschylus. Classical scholarship? Usually not my thing, but remember, I had two and a half months of high school and maybe three weeks' worth of actual work to do, and since my teachers? Not in the mood to let me just wander off during class time, I had to, in the immortal if slightly paraphrased words of Willow Rosenberg, "make my own fun."

Now for the two mes.

The first me is the me that the Adversary duplicated back into my home universe. I rode along, if you can really ride along as a passenger in your own body, for about five minutes, and then, confident enough that things were going to be – well, not wonderful, this is _my_ life we're talking about here – but good enough. Whatever wacky adventures she gets up to beyond that, I don't know, I won't know, and I don't want to know. Her life, not mine.

You know what I mean.

The second me is me, your occasionally humble narrator. The one part of whose request was to continue the altered Buffyverse with a few _minor_ changes.

Note: The word minor there? Stressed to accentuate the irony. While I didn't exactly become Supergirl, nor did I change the world into a paradise, if I was going to stick around, some things were going to have to be changed. I'd worn myself out mentally trying to steer the universe for two and a half months, give or take the odd day or two, under the conditions of the bet.

First thing is, I got to restart the Buffyverse at my leisure. So, for the first time in what seemed like forever, I got to relax. Time remained frozen around me. Which killed taking in a movie or watching TV, but gave me a lot of time read, walk around, and sleep. When I was ready for things to begin again, they would.

I'm not entirely sure how long I took – no night, no watches – but eventually I got tired of the solitude and, after "breakfast," walked back to the Echolls estate, in the same clothes I'd been wearing when the Adversary decided the bet was over, and began to step into the house.

"Time in," I said quietly.

I took a deep breath. Things began moving again.

And that's where you came in.

Of course, if a vacation was all I'd asked for, then I would be a bigger idiot than the (hopefully, forever) hypothetical offspring of Don Lamb and Harmony Kendall.

For one thing, I can take more of these vacations when I need to. Not all the time, and not in the middle of a crisis, but when it's over? I can relax. If I want to.

("Miss Mars," the Adversary had said, "you are making a complicated request. I could simply tell you no, but I appreciate your imagination and am willing to work with you. If you desire the ability to stop time at will, then that will be the entirety of your reward.")

So, I've got limits. Not the first time. But the limits are expanded. Enough that I can at least call myself Epimetheus unbound. And I'm not going to make you sit through every account of my negotiations with the Adversary. His part in my life, and this story, is over.

So, expansion. "Epimetheus" is no longer restricted just to telling people about their pasts; the future is now in play.

Also, I can tell people, if I want to, that I have this knowledge. Not sure if I'm going to do that, because the explanation would be long and complicated and would probably lead to more problems than it would solve.

I remain magic-null and nonpredictable.

Also – and this was the toughest "get" – every intruder in the timeline has a lifetime ban on getting killed by vampires. Yes, even Celeste Kane and Don Lamb, and if you're wondering why I added them too, well, none of them asked to be added to this timeline, so while I'm not going to particularly care if they get hit by a speeding bus, it seems a bit wrong to let the vampires have them.

(This does not equal invulnerability, incidentally, but if one of us is about to get slaughtered, something will happen to cause it to not happen. Fate will intervene. Somehow.)

Finally, I got my taser back.

And – one other thing. Well, technically, two. More about them in a second.

X X X X X

Buffy and I were sitting at the Espresso Pump. It was New Year's Eve.

"So, here's to a happy vampire-free new year," I told Buffy.

She snorted. "Like I'd be that lucky."

"Well, it's free of the two biggest pains in your ass, anyway."

"Second and third." At my look, she said, "Snyder."

"Right."

"Can we do to him what we did to Spike and Dru?" she asked innocently.

"Pleasant a thought as that might be, it's a mild overreaction. It'd probably get us all in trouble, and do either one of us _really_ need to give Deputy Lamb any more ammo?"

Sighing, she said, "Yeah, you're right." Then, with a grin, "Maybe we'll be lucky and it'll turn out he's a demon."

"Live in hope," I said.

"Where've you been the last week or so, anyway?"

"More or less grounded. Dad wasn't happy with what went on with Aaron – I couldn't exactly give him the whole story and pretty much kept me shuttling between work and home."

"Still, totally worth it, right?"

"In so many ways."

A familiar voice said, "Ladies. How're my two favorite blondes doing today?"

"And what order would you place us in, Mr. Fennel?" I asked. Wallace was in mock smooth mode.

Wait, Wallace?

Yup. I told you there were two other things. Wallace is one.

And another voice said, "Come on, Fennel. I'd like to hear the answer."

"Thanks, Mac. So would I," Buffy said.

And Cindy "Mac" MacKenzie would be the other.

They'd been inserted, along with their families and were equally protected by my intruder clause. Neither of them had changed anything that happened since School Hard, and Sheila and I were still friends, and just as close as we'd been. Neither of them knew anything about the supernatural, and I was planning to keep it that way as long as possible.

Meg Manning, a universe back, had told me that I had friends. I'd eventually come to accept that.

Now, I had more.

X X X X X

So, there you have it. Wallace, Mac, expanded abilities, a taser, and a future to try to improve on.

Again.

I made things better the second time. But there's more I can do. Faith died. Sheila's mother died. Pete died. Cordelia was made a paraplegic. It was never proved that Warren raped me. Aaron Echolls wasn't proven to have killed Lilly. And it doesn't have to happen that way again.

So. Universe one, the original Buffyverse. Universe two, the one where I intervened for around three months and let things take their course from there.

Let's see what this Martian Manhunter can do third time around.


End file.
